Chosen
by CupcakeSprinkles14
Summary: When Cato Hadley from District 2 came to 12 looking for a male partner, Peeta hadn't worried about standing out. To his horror, Cato finds the boy's virtue and innocence fascinating. Forced to District 2, Peeta must learn to adapt to their ways of life. But Peeta had went through this sort of thing before and with the 74th Hunger Games fast approaching, it's either do or die.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Since there's only, like, two chapters left of Rusted Gold, I decided to get a head start and post up my next Cato/Peeta fic. This story is based in the Hunger Games universe but is an AU . . . sort of. I think. I dunno. You be the judge! ^_^_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games._

**Chosen**

Chapter One

"Peeta!"

I awoke from my sleep with a jolt. Sweat plastered to my brow and dripping down the sides of my face. My chest heaved as it became a struggle to get oxygen into my lungs. Another nightmare. Typical. I'd kicked the duvet off the bed in my sleep and the plain white sheet lay in a mess on the floor beside me. Must have been a bad one. I tried to think back on what had happened but the details of the dream eluded me. The kicked off duvet and my racing heart were the only evidence of my ever having a nightmare.

I sat up and ran my hands through my hair. Was someone calling me?

"Hello?" I yelled.

My brother Rye came into my bedroom with a smug smirk on his face. "Your girlfriend Katniss called but I told her you were sleeping," he said.

I groggily rubbed my eyes and frowned. "What?" I asked. "Katniss? She's not my girlfriend and you know it. Why didn't you just wake me up?"

Rye shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "She said to meet her at the fence by the meadow at eight o'clock."

I turned to the clock on my nightstand and squinted at the red 10:05 beeping on the screen. "Eight o'clock?!" I exclaimed. "What the hell man, why didn't you tell me?!" Rye shrugged again and saluted before turning and leaving. I ran a frustrated hand over my face and groaned.

No, Katniss isn't my girlfriend. More of a best friend. We met outside the bakery when we were kids. She was hungry and I gave her some brunt bread my mother was going to throw out. We'd been friends since then. Katniss and I hang out on a daily basis but never this early. I wondered what had gotten into her to decide to meet up at eight o'clock anyway. She knew I was never awake at eight o'clock in the morning.

I grabbed my cane and hobbled to the bathroom when my eyes caught the calender and the red circle encasing today's date.

_**June 15th**_

_**Choosing Day**_

Oh yeah, today was the choosing day. That's why Katniss had called in early.

The Choosing Day became an annual event when District 12 began spiralling into deep poverty. It was the last straw when people were beginning to be found everywhere, dead of starvation. So, to solve the problem, Mayor Undersee decided to put all citizens in the area up for sale toward the people in the richer Districts.

The richer Districts are always looking for partners, especially when they're selling for cheap. The Choosing Day is when one person from the rich Districts come down here to chose one of us as their partner. They pay for us and the money is put toward the well being of our people. It's a sacrifice we all have to make.

So far there's been three choosing ceremonies. Two people from District 4 and one from District One. I didn't know the people who were chosen by them because I refused to go to the ceremony. I couldn't watch their lives being thrown away. It was horrifying to think about. That's why Katniss came early. She wanted to talk to me before the ceremony. I took another look at the clock and decided I still had time if I went to her quick.

I ran into her as she passd the entrance to the square. "Wow!" She exclaimed.

"Katniss!" I said. "I thought I was going to miss you! Rye was an ass and didn't give me the message."

Katniss rolled her eyes and shouldered her game bag. "Sounds like him," she muttered. "Anyway, how are you?"

"Alright," I shrugged. "You?"

"Same," sighed Katniss. We started walking the perimeter of the square and I kept my eyes locked on my converse sneakers as they kicked up the stones as we went. Katniss fiddled with the fabric of her hunting jacket nervously. "So, you going to the choosing ceremony?" she asked.

"What do you think?" I asked back.

Katniss stuffed her hands into her pockets and shrugged. "I think you have to," she said.

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eyes and frowned. "Why do you say that?"

The brunette sighed and stopped in the middle of the pavement. I winced and leaned heavily on my wooden cane. There was an . . . incident last year that left me unable to walk too far without the stick. I don't talk about it too much and not many people know the truth of what happened. I just say it was a football injry.

"The man, from 2, he's a homosexual," Katniss explained. "As a man, you have to be there."

I frowned and crossed my arms. "When you say homosexual, you mean . . . ?"

"Gay," Katniss nodded.

Cato Hadley had been in the District for a week. He arrived on a train seven days ago with his father and had been seen around the Merchant and Seam areas, scouring for his new partner. I'd thought he was looking for a girl, like everyone else who had come here had done. We hadn't sold any men yet because no rich girl had come looking for a partner but now . . . today was going to change that.

Katniss touched my arm and gave me a worried smile. "Please stay at the back Peeta," she said. "I don't like this and, if push comes to shove, I won't be able to stop it if you're chosen. The welfare of the District is what's most important."

I laughed. "I won't get picked. Don't worry, I'm sure this Cato fella has better tastes than a short baker from the outlying District. Maybe he'll pick someone from the Seam." Katniss bit her lip, unconvinced. "Okay, okay, how about this? He'll probably want someone with experience."

"Hmm," Katniss sighed. "I guess you're right."

I was the only person over the age of fifteen in the whole of 12 who hadn't had sex . . . sort of. I know it sounded strange but everyone else had either been hasty when at the slag heap or had been forced to give it up to Head Peacekeeper Cray for some money for their families.

Even Katniss had lost her virginity. She got drunk one night and woke up the next morning beside her best friend Gale. It turned her into a wreck for a bit and both of them were embarrassed about it. I think they're still friends now but not as closely as they used to be. Still, it seems to be what's happened a lot of District 12 teens since Ripper stopped giving a damn over who she sold her alcohol too.

Except me. It was just something that had never cropped up yet. My inexperience with the particular topic might just be what saved my freedom.

"I told my mother and Prim I'd meet them there but I was going to walk to the ceremony with you," Katniss said. I nodded and we both set off walking again. The ceremonies-I think-take place in the middle of the square whenever said buyer announced what they want.

My first choosing ceremony . . . this should be interesting . . .

~xXx~

I didn't know where my family were. I had got lost in the crowd of people who attended the ceremony, immediately losing Katniss as she weaved away to find her sister and mother. Were my brothers even coming? I mean, they're men, aren't they supposed to be here as well? Then again, if they decided not to attend, tthey'd be safe from being chosen. Both are experienced in the field of sexual activity and I hated for this man from 2 to decide to have either of them as his partner.

Mayor Undersee always carried an air of guilt and regret on Choosing Day. He was the man who put us all up for sale after all. It's okay for those who don't get chosen. They get to live in the lap of the money the said rich buyer leaves behind but it always means one more soul lost. One more person's ambitions crushed.

When he appeared on the riggedty makeshift stage outside the Justice Building, he held the same demeanour as usual. His face was a hard mask as he led the man from 2 and his father out to overlook us all. "Cato," he said, before coughing to clear his voice. "Cato Hadley from 2 is our buyer this year." He gestured to the strong, brutal looking blond man standing beside him.

I'd heard the rumours of Cato being around but I'd never seen him myself until this minute. His tall, strong being made me feel even smaller than usual and I took a step back, hoping to blend into the crowd. Not that I thought he'd chose me, I was just taking a percaution because even the slimmest of possiblites chilled me to the bone.

"Have you decided who you'd like to . . ." Mayor Undersee chewed on his lip and sighed. "Who you'd like to _purchase._"

The man from 2 smirked, and my blood turned to ice even though the gesture wasn't even directed at me. There was something about the small turn up of the corners of his lips that made me feel unsettled. My gaze dropped to the dusty ground and fixated on my converse.

"I want a virgin," Cato said, plain and simple. "Someone I can make my mark on." His father rubbed the back of his neck nervously and stared out into the crowd of people who had come to witness the pairing. I wasn't sure why I was even there. I didn't care who the damn brute choose. My feet just sort of took me here when Katniss asked me to come with her.

"But this is District 12," his father informed him carefully, as if telling a stroppy child they couldn't get the lollipop at the store. "There are no virgins here."

"Then I'm not taking anyone," Cato concluded. The mayor's eyes widened in fear and he stepped forward to intercept.

"No need for hasty decisions," he said. "I'm sure there's a virgin somewhere here."

I ran my hand through my hair nervously, my heart beating faster than my blood vessels could keep up with. It's alright. No one knew that I was a virgin here. I could pass off easily as someone who's had sex. The only person who knows I'am is-

"We do!" A familiar voice chimed out. My blood turned to ice as Katniss climbed onto the stage. "We have one virgin left."

"Who?" The mayor asked.

"Him." She pointed into the crowd. Right at me. My heart stopped before picking up faster than before, faster than I could even comprehend.

I risked a glance at Cato and swallowed hard when I saw him looking at me like everyone else was. His eyes gleamed with malice, a predatory gaze that made me feel small.

"Yes, he'll do just fine."

Betrayal. The very first feeling that surfaced within me was betrayal. Katniss had betrayed me. I knew she had said that she cared more about the welfare of the District than she did our friendship but so much so that she'd just sell me out like that? Reveal my secret to everyone? I thought I could trust her, that's why I'd told her I was a virgin.

Mayor Undersee squinted at me. "The baker's son?" he asked in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

Cato's eyes hadn't moved from my face since they'd locked on me when Katniss had pointed me out. "Yes, I'm sure," he said.

"Great!" Katniss said frantically. She leaped off the stage, grabbed my arm and started dragging me to the stage.

"Katniss!" I exclaimed in shock, yanking my arm out of her grasp.

"I'm sorry Peeta," she said, grabbing me again and pulling desperately to try to get me up to where she previously stood. "This is bigger than you! GO!" I hit her lightly with the cane, enough to get her to let go, and backed away from her. I understood her desperation. The partner pairing money helped her sister and mother live their lives. Her hunting hadn't been enough to keep them living recently and they needed the money badly. But I couldn't give myself to Cato just because of that!

My back bumped into something and a yelp escaped my mouth as someone grabbed my arm and pulled me up and onto the stage from behind as if I weighed nothing more than a hollow porcelin doll. Said person whirled me around and I came to face to face with Cato.

His blue eyes bored into mine and a tight knot formed in my stomach. His hands gripped my arms so tightly that I could already feel bruises forming. I refused to wince. I refused to give the brute the statisfaction of knowing he had me terrified. "Yes," he finally said, his eyes practically gleaming, "He's perfect."

"I'm sorry Peeta," I heard Katniss say weakly from the crowd. A bit late for apologies now. "I'll tell your family what's happened."

What? I couldn't even say goodbye to my family? This detail, the fact that I wouldn't ever see my father or my brothers ever again made me finally comprehend what was happening properly. This brute was going to take me away to District 2 with him where God knows what will happen.

I tried to pull my arms out of the man's grasp but he smirked and held tight. My eyes met his fearfully and he quirked an eyebrow, daring me to keep trying, to keep attempting to escape. I glared at him and did exactly that. I pulled back against his hold on me and thrashed, trying to get his grip to loosen. Inside of getting looser, it got tighter and I cried out in pain. He held on so tight that my hand spasmed and my cane-my only weapon of defense-dropped out of my hand.

"Thank you Mayor Undersee, he'll do just fine," Cato said to the sweating man beside him. "My father will discuss the payment arrangements with you." In his distraction of speaking to the Mayor, I yanked one of my arms out of his grasp and tried to make a run for it. Instead, I ended up pulling my other restricted limb which the brute from 2 still held onto. The man didn't even stumble as I pulled in fact, his feet stayed planted firmly where they were.

How screwed was I exacty?

I looked out into the crowd of dispersing relieved citizens who were glad that they didn't get chosen this year. Katniss remained where she stood, her hands fisting the bottom of her braid fearfully. As if unable to handle it anymore, she sighed and turned her back on me, following her little sister Prim as she skipped away hand in hand with her mother. I wondered if she meant it when she said she'd tell my family what had happened.

I wondered if she'd tell them it was her fault.

"I'm going to go ahead and take him to the train," Cato informed his father. "You take care of all that finacial shit, okay?" His father nodded and turned back to the Mayor, immediately beginning to discuss prices. Prices on my freedom. The price of my body and soul.

How much would that cost?

As if finally noticing my escape attempts, Cato yanked me back toward him. I lashed out, strugging to get out of his hold, and screamed when he hoisted me up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Cato bent down and scooped up my cane, twirling it jollily as he set off to the train station. My hands found purchase on his head and I started pulling at his hair, yelling out of fear of what was going to happen when he got me onto that train to District 2.

Then he chuckled. I swear to God he _chuckled._ He was actually finding my lashing out amusing!

I didn't give up. The entire walk to the station, I kicked and thrashed in his arms, trying desperately to get free. A part of me knew it was hopeless, that I was fighting a useless fight-the man wouldn't even flinch, even when I hit him as hard as I could-but I couldn't admit to myself that it was over.

Then we were on the train, and the doors were sliding shut behind us.

Plunging us into momentary darkness.

And my life was over.

Maybe it was really doomed from the start.

_A/N: So guys, tell me what you think. The rest of this story will be written in third person POV and, don't worry, it's not going to be like the other 'claiming' stories that are bouncing around here. It's different, I promise._

_Teaser: Chapter Two:_

_He still wondered why Cato had sought out a virgin when there was plenty of ruggad, well-built Seam teens he could have chosen in District 12. The worst thing of all, was that the brute from 2 . . . well . . . he wasn't really a brute. He was a gueninely nice guy. He didn't force himself on Peeta, had obviously been giving him space, and came to make sure he was okay when he heard him screaming . . ._

_R&R pleeeaasseee! ^_^_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: A big thank you to all who reviewed! You're all awesome! :)**_

_**A fair warning to anyone new, all my stories have some sort of dark element. In all fairness, this story isn't as dark as Torn Between or Rusted Gold but some stuff you might not like in this fic. Especially the event in Peeta's past that caused him to need the cane. It's not a gigantic part of the plot so you can skip over it if you like any time it's talked about. I just thought I should warn you.**_

_**Dreams written in italic**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**_

Chapter Two

_The shackles chafed. His wrists were slick with fresh blood, making the chains around his wrists slippery. He wasn't sure how long he'd been chained up but it felt like days since he'd come to a plane of conciousness but that didn't nesscarily mean it had really been that long. His limbs were stiff, so he'd definitely been restrained for more than a couple hours._

_He could move his arms just fine-he kept them covering his face most of the time, scared to look anywhere but at the familar gloom of the darkness behind his eyelids-but his ankles were shackled apart. He couldn't move them at all, not even to shut his knees to express some form of dignity from the way his skinny jeans exposed his crotch. He hadn't wanted to put those jeans on that morning, his mom had forced him into them. For what, he didn't know._

_A slit of light spilled out in the otherwise dark room but he was too afraid to look up. Instead, his head burrowed further into his elbows. Footsteps rang out in-judging by the echoing sound-large room. "He's awake," a gruff voice said._

_"Good," a different one purred. The sound crawled down his spine like an unwanted tendril of pleasure, coiling around his heart and forcing it to skip a beat. He immediately knew he would grow to dislike that voice, no matter how soft and comforting it sounded._

_"He's a good 'en," the first one noted. "Hasn't made any noise, unlike some others." Unable to control it, the captured boy shuddered. Just by the way the man had said 'others' made him worry for his own welfare and safety. Since these 'others' had obviously been in the same position as him-captured and chained-and were now being spoken of in the past tense, whatever happened to them couldn't be good._

_"Well, it's nice to have someone who's obident," the second voice sighed. "But first, we need to see if he's worth his weight. You got the stuff?"_

_"Uh-huh," the first person mumbled, popping the cap on something. The footsteps got closer and the boy recoiled in on himself, terrified of what they were going to do with him. _

_"Come on sweetie," the soft voice crooned. "We're not going to hurt you." Instead of a soft touch to match the voice, his hair was grabbed and violently yanked back, forcing his head out from it's hiding place in his arms. The boy gasped, blue eyes shooting open in fear to find a woman with bright red hair smiling sweetly at him. It wasn't kind sweet-the type you'd get from old ladies giving you candy at Halloween-it was a sickly sweet. Like thick golden syrup sickly. _

_"Oh, how pretty," the woman said, tracing the boy's features with her scarlet red fingernails. He flinched at her touch but the hold she had on his hair was too strong to pull away from. The other person-a man with oily black hair and a smirk evil enough to rival Satan himself-took a hold of his throat. His fingers tightened around the boy's windpipe, forcing him to gasp._

_"Now be a good boy and swallow all this up, eh?" The man said in a patronizing voice, producing a blue container with a popped top and tipping the contents up into the boy's mouth. He choked, the cold liquid sliding down his throat like an unwanted slime. He tried to force himself to throw up but the grip on his neck squeezed, and he was forced to swallow._

_Blood rushed from his head and headed down south, going straight to an organ he still wasn't completely familar with. He may have been a fifteen year old boy but he'd always been too busy to fritter away his time with stuff like worrying about self-stimulation when he always seemed to have work to do. The denim of his jeans seemed to tighten uncomfortably and he squirmed on the spot, trying to relieve some of the pressure._

_The red headed woman's smile widened to show off row after row of pearly white teeth that seemed to glow in the dark. She gave him one last indignant tug on his blond hair and ran a fingernail down the side of his face. "Now, let's see what you've got." _

_The boy didn't realize what she was talking about until the black haired man's hands grabbed the waistline of his jeans, opening his belt buckle with ease. His cerburan eyes widened in fear and he tried to fight him off, thrashing whatever he could move-anything that wasn't restricted by the chains._

_The woman grabbed his shoulders and pinned him down, fingernails digging into his skin painfully. He cried out in pain. "Do it," she ordered. "And be quick about it. He's gonna be a fighter."_

_When the man finally forced his jeans down, the boy did finally find his voice._

_He screamed._

Peeta awoke with a gasp, his body coated in a flim of sweat. He swung his arms, making sure they weren't chained up like in the dream, and moved his legs underneath the thick velvet quilt. Sighing in relief, he slumped back against the headboard of the bed.

He hated when he dreamt of the past. It only made it harder to forget. It seemed that something, at the back of his mind, refused to let him lose the memory of what happened when he was fifteen. A part of his head that wanted to haunt him with it for the rest of his life. Maybe it was just him, since he wasn't as pure as he always claimed.

Peeta hadn't seen Cato since he got on the train to District 2 and, even when they arrived in the District, he'd been lead by an avox (he didn't know that people in District 2 _had_ avoxes) to a room and gestured at to make himself comfortable. No-one having showed up the entire night, Peeta went to bed, exhausted from the day's events.

The nightmare had perturbed him. He hadn't dreamt of that for weeks now, maybe even months. Sure, he'd suffered various other vicious allusions: watching his father being shot, his brothers brutally murdered . . . facing his mother again after all this time. . . he'd had them all. But it definitely had been a while since he'd dreamt of that one horrific week the previous year.

Kidnapped was the the best way to put it but even to this day he refused to believe he'd been abducted. Even those long weeks at therapy couldn't convince him of it. It was just something he couldn't comprehend. What had they wanted with him? Though it had been only a year ago since the kidnapping had occured, there wasn't much Peeta remembered. They told him this was probably because his kidnappers had drugged him a lot when he was in their captivity. The only time he'd remember anything was when he was sleeping, when random events from the week came forward into his mind and played out behind his eyelids.

Of course, he wasn't just picked off the streets for some special reason-his eyes weren't too bright a blue, his hair a special type of blond-he had been recommened. By his mother of all people. That's why when he said goodbye to her that morning, the morning of the kidnapping, it was the last time he'd ever seen her. Because she'd decided on her own head that-since the Bakery hadn't been raking in enough money-she'd sell her son to a couple of D12 sex slave distributers.

Shivering, Peeta wrapped the quilt around his body and tried to calm his nerves. They'd found the money his mother had recieved for selling him but he refused to look into how much it had been. Apparently it was a grand amount . . . because he was a virgin. That money had legally became his but the thought of the money alone made him feel sick to his stomach.

A knock on the bedroom door made Peeta jump out of his skin. Nervous and still shivering, he took his cane from where he left it sitting against the wall, slipped out of bed and hastily walked to the door. His hands shaking, he turned the brass doorknob and opened the giant oak door.

Cato stood in the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest. Peeta wasn't sure what he'd expected to see when he next saw the man. He hadn't seen him since the train ride to 2 and hadn't been particularly keen to see him too soon again. Cato's skin was shining with sweat and Peeta's heart exploded into a rapid beating cycle when he saw the sword pressed against the brute's side, the thin light coming from down the corridor sparkling off the metal. The thought of Cato commonly carrying a sword with him terrified Peeta to the point that he had to grip the doorframe out of fear of collapse.

"You okay?" asked Cato.

"Wh-what? Yeah. Why?" Peeta said, stumbling over his words in a panic.

Cato raised his eyerbows. "You were screaming?"

"I was?" Peeta squeaked. The older blond nodded slowly. "Oh . . . well . . . y-yeah. I'm f-fine." He shut his eyes and exhaled out his nose, cursing himself for stuttering like a blundering fool.

"You sure?"

"Uh . . . uh-huh." Peeta opened his eyes again, his gaze sliding to the sword again in deep worry. Cato followed his gaze and smirked, unfolding his arms and brandishing the sword proudly. The blade glinted as it caught the light, as if winking at him, and Peeta swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"You honestly didn't think I was coming here to kill you, did you?" Cato asked, amusement clear in his eyes.

"N-no," lied Peeta unconvincingly.

"Trust me, I'm not going to kill you until I get what I want," informed Cato. He smirked and slid the sword into a holder strapped to his side, and held his hands up as if surrending. "See? Trust me, I was only training."

"For what?" Peeta found himself asking.

Cato quirked an eyebrow. "You're seriously asking that?" he said.

Oh what a dumbass he must have seemed to be. Peeta clenched his jaw, irritated with himself for not knowing it off the bat. In a week, it was going to be the reaping for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Cato was born and bred District 2. He was a career. "You train late at night?"

"Early in the morning actually," the brute responded. "5:00am, bright and early. Every morning. The Career Institute is very clear on how often you should practice."

Peeta found himself rolling his eyes. "I didn't interuppt your routine then, did I?"

Cato smirked. "No," he said. "You're good. Plus, I can always spare some time for my partner."

Peeta stiffened and cast his eyes to the floor. Partner. It was such an alien idea. He still wondered why Cato had sought out a virgin when there was plenty of ruggad, well-built Seam teens he could have chosen in District 12. The worst thing of all, was that the brute from 2 . . . well . . . he wasn't really a brute. He was gueninely a nice guy. He didn't force himself on Peeta, had obviously been giving him space, and came to make sure he was okay when he heard him screaming.

Peeta winced, his leg starting to hurt, and shifted his weight, leaning more heavily on his cane. Cato noticed the movement, his eyes locking on the stick of wood curiously. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

Nodding quickly, Peeta tightened his grip on the cane and gripped the doorframe harder. "I'm fine," he said dismissively.

Cato chewed his lip. "Look, I'm sorry for being so rough trying to get you onto the train. It was uncalled for, I mean . . . I was just in a bad place yesterday that's all. I'm sorry."

Peeta was taken aback. Was he actually apologizing to him? "Um . . . that's okay." They stood in a thick awkward silence that neither attempted to break for a while. "Was there anything else?" he finally managed to spit out.

The career shook his head and turned on his heel, heading down the corridor. At last minute, he whirled back around and looked at the boy carefully. "Keep the doors locked."

Peeta frowned. "Why?"

Cato's eyes sparkled with mirth as he looked around himself almost nervously. "Kayla will most likely try to find you."

"Kayla?"

"My sister. Believe me, you don't want her to find you."

"Why?"

Cato grinned. "She won't leave you alone once she does."

~xXx~

Something poked his cheek. Once. Twice. A third time. Peeta shut his eyes tight, not wanting to face the day just yet, and batted the intruding prodder away. They didn't stop, in fact the poking got more persistant, barely breaking between prods. Groaning in agitation and finally giving in, Peeta's eyes snapped open.

He was startled to find a girl leaning over him on the bed. Her knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his knees, her right hand gripping the pillow by his head as her left one froze mid-poke, hovering in mid-air. Her long blonde hair was long and hung like a curtain, incompassing both their heads as if wishing for privacy. Her eyes were wide and dark blue-shocked at his sudden waking.

Peeta noticed something smiliar in her face. Same angular jaw, perfect nose and high cheekbones . . . she was spitting image of Cato.

Kayla. His sister.

Had he locked the door like Cato had said to?

Obviously not.

"You're awake!" Kayla exclaimed, resting her left hand on the other side of his head, leaning her weight forward so her nose skimmed his. "I've been waiting for you to wake for the past half hour."

"You have?" asked Peeta, alarmed. Kayla had said this as if it was normal to sit and watch someone sleep, waiting for them to wake up for thirty minutes.

"Oh yes. I wanted to make sure Cato hadn't fucked up in choosing his partner," the girl explained. She pressed her face closer to his. "I have to say he didn't. Can't say I didn't help him in the decision with all my incredible advice and all but the ass obviously ignored me when I said to chose a _virgin._ Don't you just hate that?"

Peeta's eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "What?" he asked nervously.

"Virgins," said Kayla brightly. Her smile beamed but her face was still uncomfortably close to Peeta's. "Best to chose. I told Cato, I told him, the purity of a virgin is the most fun to wreck. Because it is, obviously. I should know, after all." Her blue eyes narrowed. "It seems he didn't think so though."

Peeta was becoming extremely uncomfortable by the girl's proximity but Kayla seemed unfazed by it-her arms not even shaking as she held her weight up. "But he requested a . . . virgin . . ." he said, trailing off mid-sentence.

Kayla frowned. "Oh. And he got you? What happened? No virgins in 12, eh? I'd heard about that slag heap-they did a documentary on peasent District behaviour-but I had thought there would at least be _some-_"

"I'am," the baker frowned. "A virgin, I mean."

Blue eyes wide in shock, Kayla sat back so her weight is balanced on his hips. "Shut the front door!" she exclaimed. "Really?" She dropped back forward so her face loomed over his again. "That is _so _weird. No way!" Her eyes darted over every inch of Peeta's face, scrutnizing every feature.

"Wh-what's wrong with that?" Kayla was so close now that her lips nearly brushed Peeta's when he spoke.

"But you're so . . ." Kayla frowned and bit her lip. She poked his cheek once more and tugged on a lock of blond hair, prompting a quiet yelp from the boy underneath her. "Handsome. Hot even. You could rival some of the people I've had as boyfriends!" Before Peeta could respond, Kayla slapped her hand over his mouth. "Don't respond to that," she ordered.

Peeta shrugged in reply. Claustrophobia was starting to take over and he began thinking of the best way to tell the girl to _get off him_ before it got too much and he'd need to be sick.

"Cato!" Kayla yelled, her voice nearly shattering Peeta's eardrums. "Good job!"

"Kayla?!" Cato yelled from somewhere in the distance. "What are you doing?!"

"Checking out your eye candy!" Kayla answered. Peeta took an immediate disliking to the nickname. He did not want to be anyone's eye candy, especially not a career from District 2's. The thought of being oggled just because of the way he looked made awful memories rush foward. Things he knew from his nightmares.

Cato burst into the bedroom, looking pissed off. "Kayla!" he yelled, lunging at the girl. Kayla laughed and leaped off the bed, narrowly missing her brother's arms, and landed nimbly on the floor. She gasped and grabbed Peeta's cane, twirling it round her fingers like a baton.

"Wow! Why do you need a stick? Are you a cripple? Do you have a fake leg?" she questioned. Before Peeta could answer, Cato tackled her to the floor. Cato was twice his sister's size and Peeta worried that he'd seriously injure her, judging by the way they'd slammed into the floor. Worried, he pushed himself up into a sitting position on the bed to see if she was okay. As quick as a flash, Kayla had kneed her brother in the crotch and was on her feet again.

Cato, just as fast, brandished his sword and took a swing at her. Kayla laughed and ducked under it, jumping over the blade as he swiped it under her feet as soon as it went over her head. Her movements were graceful and seemed to come as easily as baking came to Peeta.

_That's right,_ Peeta thought._ She may be younger than him, but Kayla would probably be training just as hard as Cato for the Hunger Games._

Soon they were chest to chest, both panting from exhaustion-Kayla holding Peeta's cane against Cato's neck and the blade of Cato's sword softly pressed against her own neck by her brother. Peeta's eyes were wide in horror from watching them fight like that, not even comforted when they both burst out laughing and withdrew their weapons.

"Seriously squirt, what are you doing in here?" Cato asked, ruffling his sister's hair.

"I told you," answered Kayla, lifting her head indignantly. "I wanted to make sure you made the right choice in your partner." She smirked at the horrified look on Peeta's face and poked Cato in the chest. "I almost thought you'd skipped out on my advice to get a virgin."

Cato rolled his eyes. "Now why in the hell would I do that?" he said.

Kayla folded her arms and huffed. "Well, I'am going to have to watch him when you go into the Games this year," she said.

Now that grabbed Peeta's attention.

"You're going into the Games this year?" he asked. Both snapped their heads toward him, as if just remembering he was there. Kayla nodded and Cato stayed indifferent.

"Oh yes," Kayla replied. "We're proud of him. Even his tutor's saying he's ready." Cato eyed his sister warily, looking almost embarrassed. "Someday I'm going to be trained just like him and I'm going to volunteer and become a victor!"

Peeta found it strange listening to Kayla speak of the Hunger Games as if it was some glamourous gameshow. The same way the citizens of the Capitol saw it. Nothing could beat the ultimate prize: The continutation of your life. What else could you possibly ask for? Then again, there is the luxuries you recieve once you are a victor. Peeta wasn't sure if he'd be too fond of being brand as a victor for the rest of his life. It would be a stamp saying he'd killed people.

"He's _so_ gonna win," Kayla continued to natter. "We're all so confident about his survival that we let him get his partner a week before he volunteered. You know, like a congratulations gift?"

Oh, so he was a congratulations gift to a career. How flattering.

"You want to get changed?" Cato asked Peeta, gesturing at his crumpled clothes. Since he hadn't really had anything to get dressed in, Peeta had fallen asleep in the outfit he'd worn to the Choosing Ceremony. Though after Cato's visit at five o'clock, Peeta couldn't stop thinking about him and gotten uncomfortably hot, so he'd discarded his pants. He blinked, worrying about them discovering this and unsure whether Cato would own anything that would really fit him. As if understanding what he was thinking, the career pointed at the wardrobe built into the wall to their left. "My mom guessed your size when you arrived. She's right nearly 95% of the time."

_Well, better than nothing, _Peeta thought.

"Oh!" gasped Kayla. "Sorry! I almost forgot, here take your cane back. Sorry about taking it . . . I'm sure you're not a cripple . . ." Trying to be discreet, the girl slowly slid down to a crouching position and tried to peer under the crinkled covers at Peeta's legs. Cato stared at her, appalled, and pushed her shoulders, making her lose her balance and fall. She yelped and grabbed the quilt for leverage but just ended up dragging it off the bed as she landed on her backside.

Blood rushed to Peeta's face as his bare legs were exposed on the bed. It wasn't like he slept without underwear or anything but even with this much skin on show, he felt uncomfortable. He tried to act nochanlant, like sleeping in your underwear is the most ordinary thing ever-which it really was.

As Kayla struggled to fight her way out from under the quilt covers, Peeta noticed Cato staring at him. Well, not at _him,_ but his leg. Because of the way he had been lying on the bed, the material of his pale blue boxers had ridden up, revealing a good portion of his upper thigh. This is what Cato was staring at. Peeta-for once-wished it was in a sexual way and not in the way he knew the career was looking at that particular part of him for.

The scar was big. Jagged right across his right thigh, almost in the shape of a cartoon lightening bolt. The skin around it was slightly marbled, curling around the scar and pushing outwards like a starburst. No one really saw the blemish that often but Peeta and having someone he barely knew staring at it in amazement made him squirm uncomfortably.

He pulled the fabric of his boxers down, feebly trying to hide the scar even though it was too late. Cato had already seen it. The career's eyes flicked from the scar, to the cane that lay on the floor. Peeta could almost see the cogs working in his mind, praying that he wouldn't put two and two together.

"I'm going to . . . get changed," he stuttered, swiftly snatching his cane and hobbling to the wardrobe. Flinging the door open, he didn't even bother to check what clothes he'd grabbed before he disappeared into the en suite bathroom.

The bathroom was massive. Peeta's footsteps echoed around the room as he climbed the five steps to the main area where the sink, bath and toilet was located. Above the granite sink, a giant mirror hung against the wall. Peeta watched his reflection carefully, as if half expecting it to lurch out of the mirror and attack him. He nervously turned and pulled the fabric back up to look at the scar. It looked worse since the last time he looked at it, if that was even possible.

His cane clattered to the ground and he leaned heavily against the sink, wishing he was back home. Wishing he hadn't been such a hopeless teenager and had had sex so he hadn't of been chosen by Cato. A silent tear trailed down his cheek and he scowled at his weakness.

_Crying never solved anything _he scolded.

This was a policy he'd learnt the hard way.

_**A/N: So I hope I've got you thinking. Has Peeta's kidnapping got something to do with his cane? The scar on his leg? How did he escape such a horrible fate anyways? Well, you'll have to wait to find out!**_

_**I hope you don't mind the OC. I always liked the idea of Cato having an irritating little sister who always nosied in his business. And for those who're wondering, her name is pronounded Kyle-a. Not Kay-la ^_^**_

_Preview: Chapter Three_

_Watching him train was mesmerzing. Peeta couldn't take his eyes off his acclaimed partner as he stabbed all of the dummies in the heart, not missing a single one. He wished he had his sketchpad, so he could capture it on paper, but sadly he didn't. _

_He didn't have anything anymore . . ._

_**Please R&R! :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games_

Chapter Three

There was nothing Peeta could really do but watch Cato train. He could look around but District 2 was an intimidating place. Especially since every citizen was a trained killer and he was an outsider who found trouble in cutting open a melon. There was twice as many peacekeepers as well, only they weren't silent and isloated. They chatted to passer bys like long lost friends and told crazy stories of things that have happened to them recently.

Kayla informed him that since it was a Saturday, the Career Insitute was closed but all careers were still expected to train. It was like a policy. Where Peeta had been taught sixty minutes of excercising a day kept you healthy, they had been told sixty minutes of weapons training made you victorious.

"It's a formality," the girl had explained as she tied knots so fast that her hands were a blurr. Her brother and herself trained in a vast basement underneath their palace sized mansion. They had weapons of every kind lining the walls and wrestling matts on the floor. Peeta wondered if every person in District 2 had a training area under their house like this one. "You train, you win. Obviously."

"But what about the years the careers don't win?" Peeta asked. Kayla paused, thinking about it for a moment, before restarting her work. The question seemed to have struck a nerve in her and he immediately regretted asking.

"There's always some reasonable explanation," she finally said. "We _never_ lose just out of chance." Deciding not to push it any further, Peeta nodded and went back to staring at her hands as they weaved more and more knots.

"If there's always so many people dying to volunteer for the Games, how come on the reaping day recaps, there's only one volunteer broadcast?" he asked.

Kayla eyed him through the strands of hair that fell in front of her face. "How do you know there's only one volunteer broadcast?" she asked. "The recap of the reapings are only for the Capitol, right?"

"Yes, but my friend Madge is the mayor's daughter. Her dad has a Capitol television and one day I was at her house when the recaps were broadcast," Peeta lied smoothly. Kayla accepted this answer, falling for his deceit like any ordinary person would. He wasn't proud of his ability to lie constantly but after a string of fake, "I'm fine"s and, "I'm okay"s there comes a point when lying becomes a second nature.

"Well, thing is, there _is_ a lot of people who wish to volunteer every year," Kayla explained. "And to keep it neat, we have a draw at the start of the year with all the names of the people who want to go into the Games in the summer. A girl's name is drawn, then a boy's, and they are the ones-if not already reaped-who can volunteer. Like our own reaping within a reaping. Cato won in January."

"And the girl?" Peeta asked.

"Clove Jettison," Kayla said with an evil grin. "That girl is beast with knives."

Beast? Was that a good thing?

Cato entered moments later throwing his sword into the air and catching it. He was whistling a merry tune that didn't match his intimidating, demaning facade at all. Peeta watched as stopped in front of bunch of dummies, surverying each one. Kayla nudged him. "Wait to you see this," she whispered.

Peeta watched in awe as the career started gracefully swinging his sword, lashing at the dummies. Watching him train was mesmerzing. Peeta couldn't take his eyes off his acclaimed partner as he stabbed all of the dummies in the heart, not missing a single one. He wished he had his sketchpad, so he could capture it on paper, but sadly he didn't.

He didn't have anything anymore . .

"Amazing, isn't it?" Kayla sounded excited as she finished setting up a complicated snare that, when activated, could whip a person off their feet by a tree and suspend them upside down in the air.

"Yeah," Peeta breathed. Cato had stabbed every dummy and was now currently wiping the fake blood that had spurted out of the fake heart inside-they certainly didn't skimp out on effects-off his blade. It caused him to worry even more about his welfare. What if one day he accidently stepped out of line and ended up like the mess on the floor that was once dummy number five?

"If it makes you feel any better," Kayla said, "we aren't allowed to use our training on anyone but tributes." She smiled and tied back her blonde hair with a bright green jelly bangle. "Now I'm going to go and own the target practice."

Peeta watched as she left, ponytail swinging, and began to wonder what he would have turned out like if he had of been born in 2. Would he be a ruthless killing machine too? Skilled with snares and targets and swords? He wondered if he'd be dying to volunteer, like everyone else in the career districts. Wanting the honour of going in all to himself. He suddered at the thought.

As his eyes scanned the underground basement training area, they locked on a strewn sets of paint pots a couple of metres from where he sat. Curious, he took up his cane and used it to slide the pots towards himself. There were blacks, browns, greens, glistening in the overhead lights. Peeta had never seen real paints before. All he'd ever used in his entire life was cake icing.

They were obviously for camoflague, he decided. What other use would there be for paints in the Hunger Games? By the way the pots were untouched though, Peeta could immediately tell that Cato and Kayla weren't interested in hiding at all. He dipped his pinky finger into the brown paint, first gently as if checking the temperature, then right in without hesitation.

Putting the pot down, he withdrew his finger and held out his forearm, drawing out a pattern on it with the brown. At first he wasn't sure what he was doing, simply trying out various colours on the skin of his arm. But eventually he got into it, sliding the other colours toward him and working furiously to complete a natural blending image. He had it clear in his head and was determined to bring it to life on his arm.

He got so absorbed into it, he didn't notice when Cato appeared behind him, intently watching him work. "What'cha doin' there?" he asked suspiciously. Peeta jumped in surprise, almost jerking his index finger coated in green paint across his arm but managing to save it.

"I . . . ah . . . was painting," he said. Each of the fingers on his left hand were covered in a different colour and he held it away from himself to protect the clothes he was wearing.

"It's really good," Cato said, crouching down behind him and peering over his shoulder to have a look at his work. Peeta stiffened as his breath brushed past his cheek but refused to show weakness by leaning away. "It's a ray of sunlight piercing through trees, right?"

"Right," Peeta nodded.

Cato sat down beside him, putting his sword down beside Peeta's cane. "So, are you an artist?"

"Um, not really," the boy replied. "I mean, I used to help decorate the cupcakes at the bakery but I've never been able to afford paint. Or paper for that matter. I did have a sketchpad once but it got . . . lost." In reality, his mother had torn up the drawings inside the pad when he messed up a batch of cupcakes by accident. But the lost excuse sounded better.

"We have a stationary store here," said Cato. "If you like, I can take you down there some day and buy some art supplies."

"I couldn't expect you to do that," replied Peeta, pretending to be thoroughly interested in the patterns on his arms. "I mean, it's very kind of you and all but I'm fine, really-"

"Money's no object," Cato shrugged. "If that's what's worrying you. I mean, look around." He gestured around the room. "If I can afford to get an underground training area built into my basement for my sister and I, I think I can afford a couple of sketchpads and paints, don't you think?"

Peeta's arm dropped to his lap and he frowned. "I guess," he said uneasily. "But really, you don't have to. I'm probably not even that good anyway." Cato looked at him incredulously and took his arm to have a look at it.

"Jeez, if this isn't considered good where you come from then I'd very much like to see what amazing is," replied Cato. "Seriously, it's so realistic. Extraordinary."

Peeta flushed at the compliment, heat rising conspicuously to his cheeks. No one had ever really seen his work before, unless you counted the various spectators who complimented the cupcake desgins nearly every day, asking who did such lovely work. Of course, he never told them that it was him who woke up in the early hours of the morning, determined to perfect each and every cake.He rathered that his identity was kept hidden.

"Did you get taught how to do this or . . . ?"

"No," Peeta answered. "No. I developed the cupcake designs into it." Cato nodded in understanding and continued to examine the design. Peeta couldn't help feeling awkward as the boy held his arm in his grasp, his fingertips hovering over the paint like he wished to trace it but couldn't because it was still wet. It suddenly occured to him that maybe such things as art were not the main piorities of the teens of District 2.

A clump of hair fell over his eyes and Peeta, completely forgetting about the paint on his fingers, brushed it back. His hand ran right back through his hair, smearing the colours everywhere. Realizing what he'd done, he winced and hung his head. Cato chuckled.

"You've got a bit of"-he gestured to his head-"paint."

"Oh, gee thanks, I'd never have guessed," Peeta responded dryly. He shook his hand out to dry the paint on his fingertips and blew on his arm. "Where abouts is it so I can get it off?" He inclined round to face Cato as he asked this and jumped as his cheek bumped into the career's hand. The older blond smiled at him and trailed the hand back into his hair, along the line along the line of paint. When it came back, his skin was coated with speckles of colours.

"There," he said.

Peeta was alarmed from when Cato's hand had been in his hair. There wasn't anything aggressive about the touch, not at all, and yet shivers jittered down his spine from the slightest brush of the career's fingers. "Th-thanks," he strutted, grappling at his hair and scruffing it up, a hopeless attempt to get the paint off.

"Your hair is soft," Cato commented with an easy smile.

Peeta blinked in momentary shock, before busying himself tidying up the pots of paint. "Oh? That's nice," he said weakly. He wasn't used to compliments, being raised in a family were flattery meant vanity made words of homage sparse and hard earned. His hand went instinctively to his hair, lightly touching it. He hadn't even had a chance to straighten it out that morning because he didn't want to get lost in their giant house and followed Kayla straight out the door as soon as he was dressed.

"You're not used to this, are you?" asked Cato.

"What? Being in District 2? It's only been a couple of hours," Peeta replied briskly, popping all the pot lids closed. He knew what Cato had really meant but he tried to ignore it.

"I'd say more to affection."

"Affection?" Peeta scoffed. "I get affection." Cato quirked an eyebrow in silent question, not believing a word of it. This surprised Peeta. Not a lot of people seen through his lies and when they do it's mostly because he'd done it half heartedly. But he was always tense when he got asked questions like that-about his family, his past, prying questions about himself-so he always made sure he did it right when it came to that.

"And I suppose you got such affection from the mayor's daughter then?" Cato asked. Peeta frowned. "The girl who's t.v you watched the reaping recaps on?" His tone of voice was tinted with sarcasm, giving away that once again he didn't believe the lie that Peeta had previously told his sister. Was he even in the training area when he'd said that to Kayla?

"No," Peeta said shortly. He looked around the room and noticed that Kayla had vanished.

Cato inspected the paint on his fingertips. "I see," he said. "If she's not the core of this affection then who was it? That judas friend of yours?"

"Her name is Katniss," Peeta muttered, his gaze drifting to the floor. "And she was only doing what was right for the District. She has a little sister she has to look out for. I'm sure you'd understand that, right?" Cato smirked and pushed the paint pots aside.

"Yes, I do," he said. "Did you trust her?"

Peeta paused before answering. "Yes." He hadn't really thought about it before but he did not trust Katniss at all. He didn't really think he ever did. It wasn't even him who'd told her he was a virgin. It was his brother. But Cato didn't need to know that.

Cato sighed and slid closer to him. All of Peeta's instincts pricked up at the career's proximity and he struggled to find the ability to breathe. He looked into Cato's eyes and was blinded by the bright blue that shone from them. "You know what else they teach us in the Insitute Peeta?" he asked.

Peeta's eyes skidded to the floor, unable to look him in the eye for too long. Cato took his chin and guided it back up so he was forced to do just that. Not roughly. In fact, the gesture was very gentle. "No. What?"

"To catch a liar in the act," Cato answered.

Suddenly feeling dizzy, Peeta's eyes widened in horror. Cato chuckled. How could he have been so careless? Of course people like him were going to be able to catch him out. Kayla hadn't but then again maybe she wasn't old enough to have reached that part of training yet.

"And you've been lying your cute little ass off since you woke up this morning. All the way up to the first 'I'm fine.'" Cato's face was dangerously close to Peeta's now and the baker sucked in a terrified breath.

"What are you going to do about it?" Peeta whispered.

Cato raised his eyebrows. "There's a lot of things I _could_ do about it. Ask the many things that have been on my mind and not let you go until you've answered them all honestly. Why did you scream in your sleep this morning? What really happened your sketchpad? Why do you need a cane? Where and how did you get that painful looking scar on your thigh which I have a hunch might actually be the reason you need the stick in the first place." His hand grazed the boy's upper thigh, fingertips brushing the marbled scar over the fabric of the pants he had on. Peeta bit back a whimper and inched away.

He was confused. He didn't know what to think of Cato anymore. First he thought he was a brute, then he'd thought he was a nice guy, and now he'd gotten into the frame of thinking that maybe he was a mean, sarcastic bully.

"Why don't you then?" he challenged.

"Because I respect your privacy," replied Cato. The answer threw Peeta off completely. "Well, I _will_ respect your privacy as long as you give me one thing."

"What?"

"A kiss."

Peeta snorted. "Really?" he asked in horror. "You're not being serious right now, right?"

"Hey, you're my claim. I own you. Plus, out of all the horrid things to ask of you're really going to freak out over a kiss?" Cato asked. "I know people who have their claims chained against a wall, primped and ready to be fucked on their first day here." Peeta shuddered at the thought. "What's the matter? Don't want your first kiss to be with some mean old career who took you away from home?"

"You're not going to be my first kiss!" Peeta said spitefully.

"Funny, you weren't lying then," Cato smirked.

_"You need to open your mouth sweetie and let Aunt Mya show you how to kiss people," the red headed figure teased, caressing the trembling boy's untouched lips with her fingernails. "You're never going to be able to work if you don't know how to kiss."_

Peeta snapped his fingers.

Cato's eyes locked on the movement immediately, a frown knitting it's way onto his face. "What was that?" he asked.

Everytime something came into his head that he didn't like, Peeta would snap his fingers to get it out. It was a theraputic suggestion from his counseller to help him deal with every day life when flashbacks would return to him. "Nothing," he answered. "And no, you wouldn't be my first kiss. I kissed my friend Delly Cartwright at her birthday party."

This was true. In reality, Delly had gotten drunk on the alcohol her big brother had snuck into her party from his stash at his friend's house. She'd made a birthday wish on her candles and later, when she was totally hammered, she led Peeta to a dark alcove at the back of her house and confided in him that her wish was for him to be her first kiss. Peeta hadn't kissed anyone before, he was only fourteen, and obliged. In all fairness, Delly had done most of the kissing, her drunken state making her incoherant and greedy. She completely forgot about it the next day while suffering a hangover and decided not to bring it up.

Cato eyed him wearily. "You are one confusing enigma, you know that Peeta?" he asked.

"I could say the same about you," replied Peeta indignantly.

"I'll figure you out somehow," sighed Cato, getting to his feet. "Come on, let's get some lunch." He picked up his sword and slid it into the sheath before taking Peeta's cane and handing it to him.

"Thanks," Peeta mumbled, using the stick for leverage to push himself to his feet with. He moved haltingly towards the door when Cato suddenly grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

"You've still got a bit of paint in your hair," the career murmered, pulling a dried glob of paint out of Peeta's hair. His fingertips grazed the boy's temple and pushed back into his soft blond locks until it rested on the nape of his neck. Peeta watched him carefully, half-expecting him to decide to chain him to a wall and take his purity from him. Of course, that didn't happen.

Cato wasn't half bad looking. In fact, Peeta would say he was very handsome. If he could get any girl-or _guy_ more like-why did he want him? Why did he chose him? When there were so many people to chose from why was Peeta the one the career was closing in on, staring into his eyes with his own cobalt orbs that Peeta couldn't help but feel hypnotized by.

"Did you get it?" he whispered.

Cato nodded mutely, his hand sliding off Peeta's neck and resting limply by his side again. Peeta didn't realize until then that he had been gripping the cane so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. He loosened his grip and cracked his knuckles. The sound snapped Cato out of his trance and he smiled brightly, weaving around him and heading for the door.

Peeta hobbled after him, completely stupefied, unsure of what had just happened.

~xXx~

"Hey mom!" Cato said as they entered the kitchen.

Mrs Hadley was a pleasant woman. She looked nothing like her children with her waxen skin and bright copper hair. Her smile produced a set of dimples on her cheeks and a scattering of freckles were sprinkled across her nose.

"Hello sweetheart," she said, pushing up on her tiptoes to press a kiss on her son's cheek. Cato returned the gesture, pecking her forehead. "How was training?"

"Good, I nailed all the dummies," said Cato proudly.

Mrs. Hadley smiled. Her eyes turned to Peeta and he suddenly felt like an intruder. "And how are you sweetie? I trust Cato has made you feel at home?" Peeta's mouth went dry as he tried to answer and found it difficult to swallow. So he nodded.

"Of course I have mom," Cato said, putting a hand on his heart and pretending to sound offended. "I'm not going to treat him like a puppy like Uncle Mario does with Gina." Mrs Hadley rolled her eyes and pulled a plate of sandwiches out of the fridge.

"I know, I know," she said, setting the plate onto the wooden table in the middle of their quaint kitchen. "Your Uncle Mario has a completely different view on partners from different districts. They're scum who need to be treated like vermon." This made Peeta freeze in terror. Mrs Hadley looked at him with a worried expression. She placed a cool hand on his arm and smiled. "Don't worry love, Cato won't let him near you."

Peeta wasn't sure whether to be reassured or more frightened.

"Too right I won't. If he lays a finger on you, you tell me immediately, okay?" Cato instructed. Peeta nodded speechlessly.

"Come sit down boys, I made some cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches from when you came up." Mrs Hadley gestured to the china plate of small, triangle cut sandwiches as she unwrapped the cling film from the top. "Kayla already took the last pot of energy noodles or I would have made you those." She laughed softly to herself. "I meant to get more at the supermarket but it totally escaped me."

"Thanks mom," Cato said from the sink, pouring himself a glass of water. Peeta stood stiffly by the doorway, unsure of what to do or say.

"Don't just stand there, come on in," Mrs Hadley said assuredly, taking his arm and leading him in. "Have you made him uncomfortable Cato?"

"What?! No! If anything, it was Kayla. She snuck into his room this morning like some sort of physchopath!" Cato was quick to accuse. Mrs Hadley shook her head, sighing.

"I apologize for my children," she said, pulling back a chair and gently nudging Peeta to sit down on it. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he resisted the urge to flinch. "They can be quite exciteable."

"Me? Exciteable?" Cato scoffed. "Never."

Mrs Hadley smiled and playfully punched him in the arm. The impact made a loud smack but it didn't phase Cato at all. He laughed and kissed her head. It was obvious Mrs Hadley was strong. Strong enough for a playful punch to her and Cato to be a knockout punch to Peeta.

"'Ello, 'ello guys, dad's home!" A deep voice called. A blond man came into the kitchen, a man Peeta recognized from the Choosing Ceremony yesterday. Was he only getting home now?

"Hey dad," Cato said, sliding into the seat across from Peeta.

"Hey bonzo, how's things?" Mr. Hadley asked in a jolly tone.

"Fine," Cato shrugged. "Just been training and stuff."

"'Atta boy." Mr Hadley clapped him on the back. He grinned at Peeta and pointed at his son. "He's gonna win the Hunger Games this year," he said proudly. "Aren't you boy?"

"Yup," answered Cato, taking a sandwich and biting into it. Peeta sat at the table awkwardly, heels facing out and cane held between his knees. Both of his hands rested on the rounded top of the stick as if to keep him anchored.

"What's that? A cane?" Mr Hadley asked. "My dad had a cane like that. By gum did that thing pack a right smack." He rubbed the back of his neck as if remembering something before breaking out into a grin. "Would be some weapon in the Games, I can tell you that."

"Peeta's not going into the Games," Cato said firmly. Peeta was surprised by the authority in his tone. It's not that he'd ever planned to be reaped for the Hunger Games, nor did he wish to volunteer but the fact that Cato had said this with such assurance worried him.

"Eye, eye, looks like someone's looking out for 'ya," Mr. Hadley said with a jokey wink in Peeta's direction before Mrs. Hadley lightly slapped his chest.

"Behave Jeffory," she chuckled. "You're going to scare the poor child out of his wits."

"What?" Mr. Hadley pretened to sound aghast. "Me? I daren't scare no-one!"

"Dad!" Kayla ran into the kitchen with a pot of noodles in her hand. Her blonde hair was plastered to the sides of her head with sweat and the green jelly band had snapped and gotten tangled in the rest of her hair. She dropped the noodles onto the table as she passed it and leapt into her father's arms.

"Hey Princess!" Mr. Hadley hugged Kayla and kissed the top of her head. "What have you been up to?"

"Training," Kayla answered. "I hit the target with the bow and arrow three times in a row!"

"Three times?! Why, even I couldn't do that at your age!" Mr. Hadley beamed at his daughter proudly and hugged her again.

"I told her it was excellent but she wouldn't accept it unless she heard it for you Jeffory," Mrs Hadley smiled.

"Dad!" Kayla said excitedly, breaking away from the hug. "Have you met Cato's partner yet?"

"I have Princess," Mr. Hadley replied. "I was with him when he picked ciabatta as a matter of fact."

"It's Peeta, dad," Cato said.

Mr. Hadley slapped his forehead and grinned. "Of course! Sorry, Pita." Kayla sniggered but covered her mouth with it. Peeta fought back a smile himself. He'd heard all the bread jokes before but he knew for some reason that Mr. Hadley wasn't trying to be spiteful about his name. He was just fooling around with his children.

Mrs Hadley put a glass of water in front of Peeta and smiled comfortingly. "Don't you mind him, he's an imbeclie at the best of times."

"Hey! I didn't see you saying that when you married me," Mr. Hadley teased, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist and pulling her to him for a kiss.

Cato and Kayla groaned. "Uh dad, gross!" the younger of the two protested.

"Yeah, some of us are trying to eat here," added the elder.

"Show some respect, if your father hadn't of seduced your mother with his awkwardness you wouldn't even be here!" he said, planting a sloppy kiss on his wife's mouth. She swatted his chest.

"Behave Jeffory," she warned. When her back was turned, Mr. Hadley pulled a face at his children, pretending to be a scolded child. Kayla giggled and Cato shook his head with a smile on his face.

Peeta couldn't believe how happy Cato's family was. He'd thought-like everyone else who didn't live in District 1, 2 or 4-that the career families were raised on tough love, hardship and training. When, in reality, they were just ordinary like everyone else. Peeta was amazed by the love that exuded from each family member for each other.

_"It was your mother who gave us to you," the dark voice purred. "Your own mother, fancy that?"_

_His mother._

_His mother._

_His mother who didn't love him._

Peeta snapped his fingers, thankful when no-one noticed his pain.

_A/N: I don't know why but I never liked it when people make Cato's family unloving and hard on him. I think that the career families would be like any other family, you know? Loving and caring. The only seperation being that they take pride in their training for the Hunger Games. I don't believe that would make them cruel to each other though. I think they'd be just like everyone else._

_**Preview: Chapter Four**_

_"Her name is Clove," he supplied._

_"I know," Peeta whispered. "Your sister told me. She said she was good with knives-" Just as he spoke, a metal blade with a curved point came whizzing toward them. Peeta's heart dropped into his stomach, only for the blade to jam into the wall. Inches away from stabbing his ear into the concrete behind him._

_Please R&R! :)_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I know I'm updating this more than Rusted Gold but I'm trying to perfect the last two chapters of that to make the ending epic. It is the sequel to my first ever Cato/Peeta story after all ^_^_

_I don't own the Hunger Games_

Chapter Four

Mya was not his aunt. She tried to call herself that to form some sort of connection between her captive and herself. Since he was only a child, the woman believed that if she adjusted him to calling her auntie then he'd open up more and allow her to do her job. Which was prepare her captives for slavery.

Peeta snapped his fingers continously as he paced the perimeter of his room in Cato's house. Ever since he'd been taken to 2, the memories had been returning to him quicker and faster than ever. He hated it. It wrecked his head. Half the time he couldn't even make sense of what _did_ come into his head. When he went to his first counselling session, he'd gueininely believed that Mya was his aunt and was completely confused when they told him she wasn't. She was one of his captors. She was no relation to him at all. Not even distant.

He hadn't suffered a nightmare again that night. Which was a relief. He knew that if he'd screamed in his sleep again, Cato might not have been as leaniant when it came to leaving the topic of what Peeta dreamt of alone. He knew it was only a matter of time anyway before the career did decide to get him to spill. He just hoped that it wasn't going to be anytime soon. Because the only person he'd ever explained it to in depth was his counseller. And even then he still left things out that he either didn't know the length of or was too ashamed to tell him about.

What happened Aunt Mya? She was taken to the Capitol for trial and was found guilty of the sexual abuse/slavery of an adolescent. How it was seen to be was that she had a secret organisation under the noses of the Capitol and was therefore working against it. So her tongue was cut out and she was made an avox. Peeta, to this day, did not know what became of her black haired partner.

He snapped his fingers.

"Peeta!" Kayla knocked on the door, entering before getting a reply. "Cato wants you to come on a walk around the district with us! So you can get a feel of the place, you know?"

"Uh, okay, yeah, sure," Peeta replied.

Kayla grinned. "Great! Wait, will you be okay? With your . . ." She gestured at the cane. "The district is quite big . . ."

"I'll be fine Kayla," he reassured her.

"Okay!" The girl accepted his answer swiftly and took his hand, dragging him out the door like an overexcited puppy. "A few people have been wanting to see Cato's claim because, ya know, they're nosey. But he's promised that if anyone gets out of line he'll take care of them." Peeta could tell by the way she said 'take care of them' she meant that violence was very likely to be involved.

Cato was waiting outside for them. Peeta gave him the quick once over. Jeans, black t-shirt, sneakers. Compared to when he was training yesterday, he looked quite casual and relaxed today. Kayla was the same. She was kitted out in a bright green summer dress with brown sandals studded with jewels. As they walked, she couldn't stop talking about the coloured stones that were stuck to her shoes.

"They're real from District one!" she said proudly as they stepped outside. "I mean, really real. Mom bought them for me for my birthday when she was there on business!"

Peeta couldn't dismiss the giant smile that broke out across Cato's face when he saw them coming. For some reason, it made his heart beat faster. He didn't like it. Then again, Peeta didn't like most things he didn't understand. And the quickening of his heart because of a simple upturning of a single person's lips was definitely something he did not understand.

"I'm glad you decided to come," Cato said as they approached.

Peeta smiled in response and shrugged. "Might as well," he replied. "I haven't seen a different district before."

Kayla gasped. "Not even for a holiday?" she asked.

"Ah, no. We're not allowed out of 12 unless for special . . . reasons," answered Peeta. "Why, are you guys allowed to leave?" The teachers in 12 had always said that no-one was allowed out of their home district because it was too dangerous to move around without the protection of the fence unless on a train or other form of transport.

"Well, we're allowed to go to 1 and 4," Cato explained as they started walking. "That's all. All the careers like to keep in touch. The girl reaped this year and I were taken there recently to meet the people who are entering the Games so we could start our plans."

"You're allowed to do that?" Peeta frowned.

Cato grinned. "Well, we are. I don't know about any of the others." He looked at his sister and quirked an eyebrow. "Nice dress thumbelina."

"Shut it Bonzo," Kayla snapped. She nudged Peeta and nodded her head at Cato. "He loved this old show called the Muppets when we were kids. Only he called this puppet 'Bonzo' instead of 'Gonzo.' It was hilarious. We've been calling him it ever since."

"Shut up Kayla!" Cato exclaimed in horror.

Kayla burst out laughing, screeching when Cato picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of spuds. She buried her face into his back and continued to laugh, kicking her feet as they walked. Peeta smiled to himself. Another piece of evidence that careers were human just like everyone else. It was cute story. He could imagine a little toddler Cato with little chubby cheeks and bright blue eyes sitting infront of the t.v saying the wrong name of a television character. The image made his smile widen.

"Bonzo! Bonzo!" Kayla cackled. "Can you say it properly now Cato? It's Gon-zo. Say it with me, Gon-zo!"

Cato gave Peeta a pleading look. "Ignore everything she says," he said. "She's full of it." The comment made his sister laugh harder. It took her several moments to calm down and when Cato put her down, she had a goofy grin on her face.

As they continued to walk, Kayla chatted continously about several important issues in her life. How the sink in her bathroom was clogged, how she couldn't find her baby blue crocs even though she'd looked _everywhere_-prompting Cato to point out that she couldn't have looked everywhere if she hadn't found them yet, which also prompted a smack from Kayla-and that she needed a lift into town later to meet up with her friend.

"Can't you just meet her now?" asked Cato.

"What? No. She's doing her hair," Kayla stated as if it was obvious.

Cato rolled his eyes. "Well pardon me all to hell for suggesting something as catastrophic as interuppting Dala's hair routine!" This time Kayla rolled eyes.

"Whatever Cato. I'll ask dad," she said. She frowned her eyes. "He might react the same way . . ."

"Ack, he won't mind," Cato replied. Kayla nodded in agreement and climbed ontop of the wall that guarded people's front yards along the pavement they walked on. She tipe-rope walked across it as they made slow progress into town.

"So Peeta, what's District 12 like?" she asked, her slim arms held out like a ship's sale to keep herself steady. "Are all the people coal miners?"

"No," Peeta answered. His cane made an increasingly irritating clicking noise against the footpath. It had never made such a sound in 12 because of the thick layer of coal dust that never failed to coat the ground that softened the gravel. "The district is split in two. There's members of the Seam who work in the mines and the Merchants-like me-who work in town. If we chose to do so though, merchant workers can go to work in the mines. It brings in an extra bit of money but not many of us choose to do that . . ."

"Is there anything else the Seam people can do?" Cato asked, suddenly intrigued like his sister. "Or do they _have_ to work in the mines?"

Peeta's mind went immediately to Katniss. Who went out into the woods with Gale to hunt game to sell and trade for just so that Prim and herself aren't taken away to the Orphanage. Their mother did work, she was considered the healer in 12, but the woman didn't have the heart to charge, especially when injured coal miners were brought to her. Because of her husband's death, Peeta figured.

"Some of them temp in some of the Merchant businesses. My friend Delly has a Seam protege in her shoeshop that her parents asked her to look after. I think they work together on weekends when there's no school," Peeta answered. "Other than that I think it's the mines or nothing. But it's mostly males who go to the mines. The only time a woman would go is if their spouse dies and they have no other option."

"That sucks," Kayla said, kicking a stone off the wall. "At least you didn't have to go in that dark place, right?"

Peeta remembered going on school trips to the mines. They were dank and smelled horribly of damp. You couldn't see a thing and they were bantam and claustrophobic. Ever since their father was killed in the most recent mining accident, neither Katniss nor Prim were ever in school the days they were taken to the coal mines.

"Right," said Peeta. He saw Cato quirk an eyebrow at him out of the corner of his eye but refused to look at him. It would be so much easier if he didn't know how to catch liars. Some things are just meant to be kept hidden.

"So, you're a baker, right?" asked Cato, relieving Peeta by not pointing out his subterfuge.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Oh! What can you bake?" Kayla asked excitedly.

Peeta shrugged. "Anything really. Bread, cakes, buns, tarts . . . the works."

"You've got to teach me how to do that sometime! Maybe when Cato's busy with the Games we can spend a day baking, yeah? I've always wanted to be able to bake!" Kayla leapt over a pillar seperating two gardens and ran ahead in exhilaration.

Peeta was quite fond of the idea of teaching someone how to bake. He'd always wanted to but his mother had told him he wasn't experienced enough. Once his mother was gone, his dad had told him that he was thinking of hiring an apprentice for over the summer and asked if Peeta wanted to look after the novice and show him the works.

"Yeah, I'd love to show you how to bake Kayla," he said.

"Oh my god this is going to be an epic summer!" Kayla exclaimed happily.

"If our kitchen ends up constantly full of flour and brunt dough, we'll know who to blame anyway," Cato said. Kayla scowled and threw a small rock at him. Cato dodged the projectile and laughed.

They were passing the Justice Building five minutes later when Kayla-who'd been trailing behind-gasped and pushed herself between them. "Is that her?!" she exclaimed in star struck amazement.

"Who?" Cato asked. Peeta looked in the same direction as Kayla and saw a girl with raven hair standing in a grassy clearing. Strapped around her waist were two belts with hooks that held an array of knives. He could hear the chinking of the blades brushing against each other at the girl's slightest movements from where he stood across the road. Three targets stood on the other side of the clearing, so small that Peeta had to squint to see them properly. In her hands were two knives, then there was a third holding her hair behind her face in a bun.

"Is she going to try and hit those targets?" Peeta asked in a hushed whisper. "She'd never make that!"

Cato grinned, as if knowing something he didn't, and nodded at the girl. "Just watch," he whispered back.

Peeta turned back and watched as the girl held the first knife up by her face, adjusting the aim, before throwing it. As soon as the first blade went airborne, the second one immediately followed, the girl throwing it sideways so it made a whizzing noise as it soared through the air. Then finally, her hand whipped up to her hair, yanking the third out of her hair so that her dark curls tumbled down around her face and threw it as well without even aiming.

Peeta watched in bemusement as all three knives skyrocketed towards the targets. The points of each and every one jammed into the middle of all three. Peeta didn't realize his mouth was hanging open in shock until Cato tapped it shut with an amused grin.

"Her name is Clove," he supplied.

"I know," Peeta whispered. "Your sister told me. She said she was good with knives-" Just as he spoke, a metal blade with a curved point came whizzing toward them. Peeta's heart dropped into his stomach, only for the blade to jam into the wall. Inches away from stabbing his ear into the concrete behind him.

Kayla squealed in shock and Cato just looked stupefied. The shock of it made Peeta back up into the wall in astonishment. When he looked up, Clove was standing across the road, hand on hip and with an entertained look on her freckled face. "Did I hear my name being said?" she asked.

"Oh my god Clove!" Kayla exclaimed, her eyes jerking from the knife, to Clove, back to the knife again. "That was awesome!"

"Why thank you," Clove replied, walking across the road to join them. The knifes jingled and clinked against each other as she moved and the noise made an unsettled knot form in Peeta's stomach. She could kill anyone with those.

_"If it makes you feel any better, we aren't allowed to use our training on anyone but tributes."_

Peeta focused on this sentence like his life depended on it. Then again, it probably did.

Clove pulled the blade out of the wall and dusted it off, sliding it into an empty loop on her belt. She turned to Peeta with a smile. "Sorry about that. Couldn't resist. I haven't seen you around here before," she said.

"He's Cato's partner Clove," Kayla said. "He's not from here. He's a 12."

Clove quirked an eyebrow. "A 12, huh?" she asked. "Well, welcome to District 2. Clove. Clove Jettison." She held out her hand for a shake.

"Peeta," he replied, politely shaking her hand. "You're going into the Games with Cato, aren't you?"

The girl smirked. "If you mean I'm going to beat Cato's ass in the Games then yes, I'am," she said. Cato laughed.

"In your dreams Jettison," he said. "Your knives will be no match for my strength in the end. Still, second place won't be too bad, will it? Silver is a very nice metal." This time it was Clove's turn to laugh.

"Oh please. I'll have a knife in your heart before you even have a chance to get your hands on my neck," she said. Peeta was horrified by their words, worried that their talking like that was going to break out into a fight. But it didn't. Instead they both shared a look before bursting out laughing together.

"You two are lovely to each other," Peeta mutttered.

"Oh you'll grow used to our ways," Clove said, nudging him. "It's not that bad. You should hear the way some adults get on."

"Yeah," Kayla agreed. "Sometimes they start up playful fights."

"Playful fights?"

"Well yeah. All in the name of fun though. It's not that bad. No one gets hurt. Plus it doesn't happen often. We're not all violent idiots." Kayla pointed at herself, Cato and Clove in turn. "Like us for example. Weapons and hurt is all for the Games and training, nothing else."

"Of course sometimes it needs to be put into use," Cato added.

"My mother was nearly raped in streets but she just kicked him in groin, ran until she got far enough away then chucked a blade. It nailed him in the eye," Clove said. "Self defense." Peeta noticed that the three of them all carried some form of weapon. Clove's belt of knives, Cato's sword holster still hung from his belt loops and Kayla had a dagger strapped to her thigh, hidden by her dress (he'd only got a glimpse of it when she climbed onto the wall).

"Does attacks like that happen often?" asked Peeta.

Cato shrugged and leaned against the wall. "Not very often. Once it gets close to the Hunger Games, the District can get rowdy. People think they can do as they please. Have a tendancies to go off the law. Other than that, no, attacks are not frequent."

"Which reminds me," Clove said. "We need to discuss what we're going to do about the other four careers. Once the Games starts getting intense."

"Oh, yes," said Cato. "The girl from 1 is a bit . . .

"Of a whore?" Clove finished. "Yes. I have a feeling she's going to die on her own."

"What about the boy? He's pretty skilled with that spear."

"Um . . ."

"Leave him until near the end. Once there's no point hunting at night anymore," Kayla sugggested. "You know, because there's barely anyone left? Get rid of him then." She paused. "If he doesn't get himself killed anyway."

"Good idea squirt," Cato said. "Should we go with that?"

Clove shrugged. "Sounds good. I mean, I don't think the ones from 4 are a threat at all really. The boy is a bit of an idiot, I doubt he'd last long. The girl is sparkle mouth from 1's long lost twin."

Cato chuckled. "Agreed."

"Sparkle mouth?" Peeta frowned.

"Get this," Clove said. "Her name is Glimmer. I mean, what the hell? Who names their child Glimmer? I tell you, these District 1 names are getting worse. Plus, the girl's ego is the size of Saturn, rings and all. She has the constant feeling of Gymnophoria."

"Gymnophoria?"

"The feeling that someone is undressing you with their eyes. She thinks anyone who meets her is attracted to her," Clove explained. "She even came on to Cato, thinking she was gonna get lucky."

Kayla laughed while Cato looked embarressed in an annoyed way. For some reason, Peeta felt a seething ball of jealously well up inside him, not liking the idea of someone flirting with Cato. It caught him off guard though and took an immediate disliking to the sensation.

"I'd better get back to work," Clove said. "Need to be perfect for the Games." She grinned and turned, walking across the road while pulling his hair up into a ponytail. Once her hair was up, she immediately pulled a knife off the belt and threw it without even stopping to think about her aim. It lodged right into the middle of the middle target.

"That's amazing," Peeta said once she had disappeared over the clearing to retrieve the knives stuck in the targets. "I mean, how she can hit the targets and all."

"I guess it's pretty impressive," Cato replied flippantly.

"Pretty impressive!?" Kayla exclaimed. "Pretty impressive?! You twat! What the hell? It's amazing. God, it's so hard to get a decent compliment out of you!"

The sentence reminded Peeta of the previous day when Cato had complimented the painting on his arm. It made him feel strangely warm to know that he had managed to get cajolery from someone who never gave out words of praise.

"So, mom wants to invite over some family for you to meet tomorrow," Cato said as they started walking again. "She's hell bent on it."

"Uncle Mario isn't coming is he?" Kayla frowned. Peeta didn't know much about this Mario man but there was something in the way they spoke of him that didn't settle right with him.

"Sadly yes, he is," Cato sighed. "Mom wants Iggie to come but you know how you can't invite Iggie without Mario so . . ."

"God, mom can be such an idiot sometimes," Kayla sighed. She took a glance at Peeta and plastered a fake smile on her face. "It's going to be great! I just need to talk to Cato for a moment." She grabbed Cato by the arm and dragged him forward a couple of metres ahead. Flashing one last artifical smile in Peeta's direction, she pulled Cato close and they started squabbling.

Peeta leaned against the wall, giving his leg a rest, and strained to hear what they were argueing about. He could only hear snippets though.

" . . . get him on a leash like Gina!" Kayla hissed.

" . . . what you want me to do?! He's mom's brother!" Cato snapped back. "I'll look after him!"

"You can't guarantee he'll be safe!" replied Kayla. "You know Uncle Mario, he's a physchopath!"

"Kayla," Cato's voice had dropped several octaves and he'd pulled Kayla even closer. "If that man comes within inches of him, I'll take care of it, alright? No-one's going to hurt him as long as I'm around."

Kayla pulled away with a glare on her face that could stop a clock. She turned on her heel to face a rather bewildered Peeta and smiled widely. "As I said, fun!" she said enthusiastically, before turning and walking ahead at a hurried pace. Cato shook his head and came back to Peeta with an equally fake smile.

"Is everything okay?" Peeta asked as he came back to him.

"What? Oh yeah, everything's fine," Cato answered. His eyes looked distant, as if contemplating something important that took up a great portion of his mind. The expression didn't last though as he finally shook his head and smiled again. "Come on, I'll show you some of the sights."

~xXx~

Peeta lay in bed later than night, curled up in a fetal position on his side. He'd tried getting to sleep but his mind was too awake and buzzying to do it. He couldn't get his mind off the hushed conversation Kayla and Cato had exchanged earlier that day. The fact that they felt that they had to take a step away from him and talk about this Uncle Mario made him even more worried about meeting the guy tomorrow.

Another thing that kept his head occupied was that feeling of envy that had built up in him when Clove had mentioned this Glimmer girl. Why did that happen? So what if some Gymnophoric girl from District 1 had a thing for Cato? Did it matter? It shouldn't have. Peeta _had_ been forced here against his will and he wasn't attracted to Cato and he wasn't gay and-

Why was he even worrying about this?

Peeta groaned and pulled the quilt up to his chin. Everything was so messed up. He felt like a jigsaw puzzle that wasn't completed yet, that still had several missing pieces that had yet to be found. After the kidnapping, last year became just one big blurr of doctor's appointments and therapy sessions. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to know what had happened to him but it was hard not to ask. Because a giant segment of his life had been taken up with it. With sympathiec smiles, get better soon cards and visits to the police station to give what felt like a thousand statements of things he couldn't even remember.

There was a knock on the door and Cato popped his head around. "Is this a bad time?" he asked when he saw the boy cocooned in the covers. Peeta looked up from the pillow and shook his head.

"No," he replied. "Come on in."

Cato came in and stood by the end of the bed. Peeta pushed himself up to sit upright and blinked at him expectantly, waiting to hear what he'd came for. "So, is everything alright? I mean, are you comfortable and all?"

Peeta brushed his hair out of his eyes and nodded. "Yeah. Everything's fine."

"Are you sure? Because if there's anything you need, anything at all, you know you can just ask."

"I'm sure. Thanks Cato."

Cato moved, almost hesitantly, further up the bed before sitting down on the edge. "Look, I know this probably isn't your ideal situation. How you planned your life to turn out. I bet a guy like you had loads of contrivance of how your life was going to turn out and I just . . . took it."

"You didn't take it-" Peeta tried to protest. The career was speaking miserably, not even looking Peeta in the eye as he did so. It made him feel horrible.

"I did though," Cato interuppted. "I never wanted that. And I didn't just do it out of spite, I swear. I don't get off on watching people's lives plumment like some do . . . Cuz' I like you. I do. I'm kind of happy that your friend Katniss pointed you out because now I can't even think about choosing anyone else."

Peeta wasn't sure how to answer so he fiddled with the fabric of the quilt, wondering where this was going to lead to.

"And I just want to say all this now because if you don't want to be here or you hate me or whatever, I'd like to know sooner rather than later so that I can understand. I'd rather know how to take things because even if you do hate me there's nothing I can do about it when it comes to finally making the partnership offical. You know, when I . . . "

A feeling of dread ripped through Peeta and his heart felt like it had completely stopped. He breathed in deep and exhaled again, trying to reclaim some control over his ability to remain calm. He'd been so wrapped up in his nightmares, in his perturbation over the startling jealously he had over a girl he'd never even met before, thinking about his sinister past, that he hadn't thought about how he was still Cato's property. Mr. Hadley had bought him as a congrautlations gift.

There was still the reason why Cato wanted a virgin in the first place.

"You'd still do it even if I hated you?" Peeta asked wearily. The thought terrified him.

Cato shrugged. "There was a time when it would have made me even more excited to have you . . . the fact that you hated me, I mean. But I'm different now . . . I've changed. I wouldn't enjoy doing anything to you with the knowledge that you hated me but it wouldn't change the fact that I liked you and wanted you as my partner. But it isn't official unless we . . ." He begged Peeta with his eyes to know what he was talking about and not make him say it.

Peeta laughed dryly. "What? Like consummating a marriage?"

Cato shrugged. "I guess you could say that," he said. "And there is a reason I wanted a virgin you know. I didn't want to chose some whore who'd been sleeping around or who'd been dirtied by someone else. Becaue you seem to be a guenine person and I don't know many guenine people. I wanted someone who could be mine from the start . . . _not_ in the way it sounds."

"You wouldn't have even noticed me if it hadn't of been for Katniss," Peeta said quietly.

Cato quirked an eyebrow. "You're kidding right? You're the first person I saw. Right in the middle with the bright golden hair and deep blue eyes, leaning heavily on a crooked wooden cane. The only reason I didn't pick you immediately was because I thought there was no chance you'd be a virgin."

Peeta blinked. "What?"

"I thought you wouldn't be a virgin," Cato clarfied. "Not that I thought you looked like a slut or anything, god no! It's just, you know, I'd thought there would be some woman in your life." Cato sighed in exasperation and ran a flustered hand through his hair. "Of course, I'm glad there isn't though."

"W-where is this going?" Peeta whispered, afraid of what the answer was going to be.

"All I'm saying is that when it comes down to it, I'm not going to hurt you. I wouldn't dream of hurting you. It seems that the other districts have some big picture about the careers and that we're all big bad bastards who want to kill and maim everything that doesn't agree with us . . . but we're not like that. I'm not like that." He reached out and grazed his knuckles down Peeta's cheek. To his surprise, he didn't flinch. It was a comforting touch.

"I know," Peeta whispered.

"And someday I'm going to have to, as you say, consummate the partnership, and when I do I don't want to force it out of you but it's going to happen," Cato explained. "I won't hurt you, I promise. You deserve for your first time not to be lying chained up against a bedpost crying in agony."

"You think so?" Peeta asked.

Cato smiled. "Of course I do. I promise right now that as long as you're with me, I'll never hurt you or cause you pain in any shape or form. I want you feeling safe here. Not like someone is going to come and kill you at any moment. Because that's not going to happen. I swear."

Peeta hadn't noitced how close their faces had gotten until Cato's breath burshed past his cheek. He found himself getting lost in the career's cobalt eyes and searched them for a hint of a prank, of a lie. A glimmer of the possiblity that he was just playing a cruel joke on him. But it wasn't there.

"I'll be careful when it does come to . . . that. I won't force anything upon you," he continued. His face was getting closer to Peeta's, who held his breath. "I-I want you to be comfortable with the whole thing."

"I don't know if I would be though . . ." Peeta replied. Cato placed a finger on his lips and shushed him gently.

"Give me a chance?" he pleaded.

"Now?" Peeta asked in a panic.

"No, no," Cato said. "We can just take it slowly, okay?"

"Starting with . . . what?" Peeta inquired.

Cato grinned. "You do still owe me that kiss," he said softly. He leaned forward a couple inches and pressed his lips against Peeta's. The boy didn't respond immediately, his heart beating expeditiously and his eyes as wide as saucers. There was something, like a spark deep in his gut that made him melt into the kiss and slowly begin to recooperate. It was difficult, the only experience he could remember being the sloppy kiss with Delly.

Cato was paitent though, gently guiding him through it, moving his lips slowly and sensually against the trembling baker's. The sensation relaxed Peeta and he found himself softening in the career's hold. Cato's hands framed his face and stroked the boy's cheekbones with his thumbs. "Is this okay?" he murmered against his mouth.

"Mmm-hmm," Peeta mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut. His arms were lying stiffly by his side, afraid to move, but Cato wasn't as shy, his hands pushing through Peeta's hair. He wound a curl around his finger and softly stroked it as he ran his tongue along the boy's bottom lip. Peeta sighed and Cato smiled against his mouth.

Something suddenly smashed down the hall and Peeta yelped in shock. Misinteruppting it, Cato pulled away so fast that he fell off the edge of the bed. "What? Did I hurt you? Did I go too far?" he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.

"No! No, of course not!" Peeta said quickly.

Cato sighed in relief. "Oh thank god," he said. "I thought I'd maybe went too far or something when I put my hands in your hair but I just couldn't help it-"

"It's alright," Peeta replied, suddenly feeling self concious. His lips tingled from the kiss, missing the warmth of Cato's mouth on his. It had struck up many thoughts that he hadn't ever had before. What if it had went further? Would he have let it go further? Did he want it to have gone further?

Cato was flustered from the aburpt stop and the come down from the shock of thinking he'd hurt Peeta. "Well, I-I'd better g-go."

Peeta nodded. "O-okay."

Cato turned and tripped over the cane that was propped up against the wall. Peeta jumped as he stumbled to the floor before quickly pushing himself back up to the floor. "I meant to do that," he said, putting the cane upright against the wall again.

Peeta nodded again. "Of course," he replied.

The career nodded and headed to the door, only to bang his hip into the headboard. Peeta's eyes widened as Cato yelped in pain and tripped over the base of the bed. Peeta scrambled to the end of the bed. "Cato, are you alright?" he asked, deeply worried. Cato jumped to his feet, clutching his hip.

"Oh yeah, fine," he said, nochanlantly. "Just fine." He then proceeded to back up into the door. The thump made Peeta jump again. Cato spun around and fiddled with the doorknob, finally flinging the door open and throwing Peeta a smile. "I meant to do that too. Just . . . saying."

"Okay," Peeta said, brushing some hair out of his eyes.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow . . ." Cato stratched the back of his head nervously.

Peeta nodded. "Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow."

Cato nodded back and quickly slipped out the door, shutting it softly. Peeta sat on the bed, staring at the shut door for a very long time. When his eyes began to droop shut, he crawled under the covers and tried to get some sleep.

What happened tonight?

_A/N: Awww, young love. I think it's cute how flustered they get ^_^_

_**Preview: Chapter Five**_

_Cato hadn't showed any public affection up until this point. But when the intimidating man's dark eyes fell on Peeta, his lip turning up in distaste, Cato's arm immediately wound around the boy's shoulders, pulling him close. Peeta recognized it well as an act of showing ownership._

_Because even though Uncle Mario hadn't even spoken to him, he already hated Peeta._

_Please R&R! :)_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I don't own the Hunger Games._

Chapter Five

_As Cato kissed him, he softly guided Peeta onto his back on the bed, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip, asking for entrance. Peeta opened his mouth eagerly with a moan, his arms finally gaining the courage to wrap around Cato's neck. The career's hands raked through the younger blond's hair, his fingernails grazing the boy's scalp. _

_Slowly, his hand fell out of his hair and slowly trailed down his chest, stopping when he reached the waistband of Peeta's pyjama pants. "Is this okay?" he whispered. His chest heaving, Peeta nodded before he was really aware of what he was agreeing to. Cato smiled and kissed him hard. He pressed his hand against the bulge in Peeta's pants. _

_Peeta mewled and his hips rose off the bed. He hadn't felt like this before, and he was enjoying the euphoria he was experiencing. Cato pressed hot kisses up his neck and nipped at his skin with his teeth._

_"Why, lookie here," a different voice purred. A voice that sent a chill down his spine. Cato was gone and in his place was a red headed woman. Auntie Mya. "You're perfect for the cause," she said, her hand tightening around his crotch. "Just what we need."_

_Peeta screamed and kicked her away from him. She fell off the bed with an ear shattering screech, giving him enough time to dive back under the quilt, curling up in a ball in the crepsclue dark underneath. He pulled the covers tighter around his body as if it was going to help him vanish underneath. He felt hands clawing the covers, trying to get to him. He yelled for her to go away, to leave him alone._

_But she would never, ever leave him alone._

When Peeta woke up, he slapped his hand over his mouth to prevent himself from screaming. He paused, pushing up on the bed, listening out for any sign of any of the Hadley family having heard him. Thankfully, there was no sound at all anywhere.

Sunlight pierced through the blinds, hinting at dawn. Knowing there was no point trying to get back to sleep, Peeta slipped out of bed and limped to the bathroom without bothering to take his cane. He needed a shower desperately, especially after sweating the equvilant of Niagara Falls after the nightmare. There was a glass cubicle built in the corner of the bathroom that had a shower drilled into the wall.

Cato surely had thought of everything when he set up the area for his partner. He had left bottles of shampoo and conditioner on the little pedestal connected to the shower pipe and some body wash hung from a small hook in the wall. Peeta was glad, he didn't know if he'd have the courage to go hoking around in a room that still didn't feel like his own.

Showers were Peeta's sanctuary. They helped him scrub off the nightmares and the contaminated feeling that they always seemed to leave behind. Of course, it was impossible to spend the rest of his life inside a shower. It was impractical and cowardly. So when he did finally come out the whole bathroom was filled with steam and was suffocatingly hot. Peeta sighed and took a towel from the small cupboard beside the shower cubicle. He held it loosely around his waist as he returned to the bedroom to get some fresh clothes from the wardrobe.

Today Cato's family were coming to the house par request of Mrs Hadley. He wasn't sure whether he was happy about this or not. Sure, he'd eventually meet some of them but all of them in the same room was sure to be overwhelming. Peeta wasn't sure if he was going to be able to handle it.

"Peeta!" A shrill screech came from behind the bedroom door. "It's Kayla! Can I come in?" The door was already completely open by the time she finished the sentence, presenting a grinning Kayla in the threshold. Peeta counted his blessings that he'd managed to at least get his underwear on before she'd appeared.

"Uh, hey Kayla," he said, scratching the back of his head. "Can I help you?"

"Actually, it's how _I_ can help _you!_" Kayla said excitedly. "Our family are coming, it's very important you make a good impression! I have to dress you!"

"Why?"

"Because I know style! You've been just wandering about in that same old white shirt and trackies. Cato wore those when he was fourteen!" Kayla said. "You must let me dress you properly or they'll think you're a hermit of some sort!"

Peeta raised his eyebrows. "Oh, thanks," he said sarcastically. Kayla grinned and attempted to fix his hair.

"Well it's true. Do you want lies or the truth? I'd say truth. Now! Let's have a look in here." Kayla curved around him and looked inside the wardrobe. "Wow, Cato's given you all of his old clothes. Well, at least you'll maybe listen to my suggestions unlike him." Her hands flicked through the hangers of clothes, her fast fingers getting the feel of all the fabrics. "God he's got so much more than me! Velvet, cotton, denim . . . is that silk?! Where the hell did he get silk?!"

Peeta peered over her shoulder curiously. "It looks like some sort of pirate costume."

Kayla burst out laughing. "That's right! His school did a production of Treasure Island! He was a backup pirate. I wonder if that's real silk . . ."

"Probably not, if it was for a school production," Peeta replied.

"You're right. That's fine then. For a second there I thought mom was buying him silk and not me!" Kayla said as if it was the most horrific thing that could ever happen. "Anyway, let's see . . . hmm . . . taking your skin tone, height, weight all into consideration . . . hmm, yes, this shall be good." She grabbed a few hangers and threw them at Peeta. "Try them on. They should fit. More clothes from when he was fourteen."

Knowing that resistance was futile, Peeta took the clothes and pulled them on. While he yanked the maroon cotton hoodie over his head, Kayla crawled into the wardrobe under the clothes to hoke through the shoes.

"Boots!" she yelled, her voice subdued from the many thick materials inside the wardrobe. She pushed out a pair of brown leather ankle boots. "Those on now too!"

Peeta fumbled with the black belt that was already looped through the jeans' belt loops. "Okay, okay, give me a minute." He'd never wore a belt before and was having great difficulty figuring out the dynamics of the contraption. Noticing this, Kayla sighed and slapped his hands away.

"How poor is 12 exactly? I'd have thought you'd at least have belts," she said, pushing the strap through the metal and attatching it to the correct hole.

"We did have belts," Peeta said. "But they weren't used in the sense of dress."

Kayla frowned and stood back up slowly. "I know what you mean by that you know," she said. "They didn't . . . beat you with them did they?" In a state of panic, Peeta shook his head quickly.

"No, of course not," he lied, unsure of why he'd even said that in the first place.

"Hmm, well some people here do," answered Kayla. "If you ever see someone walking around with bright red welts you'll know why. Not all of us are as carefree when it comes to training for the Games. Never mind though, it's not important. Now let me take a look at you." She stepped back, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and giving her outfit the once over. Her green eyes fell on the boots. "Can you tie or should I-"

"No, it's fine, I've got it," Peeta said, crouching down and knotting the laces twice.

"What are you doing?" Kayla frowned.

"Double knotting. It ensures they don't come loose," answered Peeta, standing up again. Kayla examined the outfit once more, adjusting a couple of things here and there, before nodding in statisfaction.

"There. You should dress properly more often," she concluded. "Sure, trackies are alright sometimes but not for someone who can pull off jeans. Now come on, Cato's downstairs. He doesn't even know I'm up here . . . he'd probably kill me. Wait!" She pushed up on her tiptoes and scruffed his hair. "There. Perfect. I, my friend, am a visionary."

Peeta forced a smile to agree with her. Taking it as predicted, she took his hand and dragged him out the door. He barely had a chance to grab his cane before she pulled him out. For the first time he noticed what she was wearing. A hot pink belly top with short sleeves that had longer white sleeves stitched to them. Her skirt was tiered and had a pink bow with long ribbons attatched to the waist. The only thing that wasn't bright and pink were the dark black sneakers on her feet.

"Did you . . . dress yourself?" he asked as she hurried down the hall, dragging him behind her.

"You've got to be joking," laughed Kayla. "Why the hell would I dress myself in this? The sneakers were my idea though."

"Oh, really?"

"What? I wasn't going to wear all this prissy crap without something to anchor the colours. It was mom's idea to wear pink," she said. "And I just can't say no to my mom." Kayla stumbled on the stairs and almost brought Peeta down with her as she staggered down a couple of steps. "Oh, whoops, sorry."

They'd made it down the stairs and were nearly at the kitchen when Kayla came to an aburpt stop, prompting Peeta to bang right into her. Both of them stumbled to the floor. Kayla sat up first, quickly dusting herself off before freezing back into her previous rock solid state.

"What is it?" Peeta asked, standing up and straightening his hoodie. He peered past her and saw the kitchen door lying wide open. A man stood beside Mrs Hadley, chatting idly to her while helping with the dishes. It was a brutish looking man with blond hair like the rest of the Hadley family.

"Uncle . . . Mario," Kayla whispered. "He came early . . ."

Kayla sounded regretful, almost frightened, and the fact that only the instant sight of the man could drop her mood so quickly unnerved Peeta. He found himself almost hiding behind the girl in the hopes that this Mario man wouldn't notice him. As if sensing their presence, Cato came out of the kitchen to greet them. The sight of him made Peeta flush, reminding him of the beginning of his dream-before it was interuppted by the unwelcome entrance of Auntie Mya-and the kiss from the previous night.

"Why is he here so early?!" Kayla hissed.

"He wanted to come and help out," replied Cato stiffly.

"Well, what do we do?!"

"Isn't it obvious? We go in," Cato said. "He's waiting on us . . . Kayla, you go in first." As the girl did as she was told, Cato smiled apologtically at Peeta, his eyes full of sympathy. "You look good," he said.

"T-thanks," Peeta stuttered. "You do too."

Cato's smile widened and he guided Peeta into the kitchen. His heart was pounding even though he still wasn't completely sure what he was afraid of. As soon as they passed the threshold to the kitchen, Mario's head turned to them instantly. His gaze turned Peeta's blood to ice.

Cato hadn't showed any public affection up until this point. But when the intimidating man's dark eyes fell on Peeta, his lip turning up in distaste, Cato's arm immediately wound around the boy's shoulders, pulling him close. Peeta recognized it well as an act of showing ownership.

Because even though Uncle Mario hadn't even spoken to him, he already hated Peeta.

"So this is your parter then Cato?" he asked, his voice as rough as gravel. Close up, Peeta could make out thin scars littering his arms and neck.

"Yes Uncle Mario, it is," Cato said. Even us voice, which was usually strong and firm, wavered. Mario's face remained placid, almost like the answer did not make any impression on him.

"Oh! How sweet!" Another blonde woman appeared beside Mario. Her skin was pale and pasty, and her eyes were dark red.

_Has to be contacts, _Peeta thought.

"It's lovely to meet you," the woman said, holding out her thin hand. Peeta politely-if slightly hesitantly-shook it. Her skin was as cold as marble and sent a chill down his spine. "I'm Iggie, Cato and Kayla's aunt. I've been wanting to meet the person who'd put the smile on young Cato's face."

Cato groaned. "Aunt Iggie-" he began.

"Oh don't be like that Cato," Iggie said. "You have been smiling a lot more the past few days. It's really nice to see again. Isn't it Mario?" Mario responded with a 'hmph' before turning back to the dishes. Peeta couldn't help but feel relieved to see the back of the man. Iggie slumped and sighed. "Ignore him, he's in a mood."

Cato smiled and led Peeta out the back. He hadn't been out there yet and was astounded by the size. The garden was massive! There was a patio the size of half a football pitch which followed onto grassland the size of a basket ball court. Kayla was kicking a ball about on the grass, toe tapping it constantly before kicking it up into the air and catching it between her shoulder blades.

They sat down in the patio chairs that had been set up on the . . . patio. _Makes sense,_ Peeta thought. They sat in silence and watched Kayla play kick about for a while, neither of them sure of what to say. Peeta fiddled with the fraying leather strap that sheathed the top of his cane. His dad had wrapped the handle of the stick in it to stop it from splintering his skin.

"I'm sorry about Mario," Cato finally said.

"It's alright, it wasn't that bad," Peeta replied. "Could have been worse."

"He hasn't even spoken to you yet," Cato said. "It's not even the half of it."

"Should I be worried?"

"No," said Cato. "It's alright. Mom usually puts him in his place if he goes too far . . ."

Peeta nodded, still fiddling with the leather strap. He wasn't sure of what else to say. His mind had now become focused on the kiss from last night. How Cato's lips felt on his . . . how he immediately missed them when he'd pulled away so aburtply . . . god, what was happening him?

"About last night," Cato said as if reading his mind, "I can't help but feel like I forced it on you and if I did I'm so sorry-"

"No, it's alright. You didn't force it on me, I responded to it and . . . . _kindaenojyedit_." He said the last part in a rush to avoid embaressment but could still see Cato's grin out of the corner of his eye.

"You _kindaenjoyedit?_" he asked. Peeta nodded sheepishly. He could already feel himself turning red. He locked his eyes on the movement of Kayla's football bouncing up and down. "Aw, you're embarressed, that's so cute. It was just a kiss you know."

The football sailed across the garden and bounced off the arm of Cato's chair. Peeta jumped as Cato snatched the ball before it could do any damage. "You kissed?!" Kayla shrieked. She ran up the garden and came to a stop in front of them. "When?"

"Does it matter Kay?" Cato sighed, throwing the ball back to her. She never took her eyes off them as she caught it.

"Yes! I need details!"

"Details of what?" Mr. Hadley came out of the house in an apron that said 'I kiss better than I cook' on it. Kayla folded her arms and quirked an eyebrow.

"Nothing," she said, dropping the ball and going back to the grass to kick it some more. Iggie came out of the house with Mario trailing behind her with a look on his face that said he wanted to be anywhere else but there.

"Hey guys," Mr. Hadley said, "How's things?"

"Good," Iggie nodded, sitting down on a chair that sat beside a black garden table. "I got promoted to second in command for the under tens at the Institute."

"Ah that's my girl," Mr. Hadley said, clapping her on the back. "I'm proud of you sis. What about you Mario? How's young Gina?" Cato's hand slipped under the armrest of the chair Peeta was sitting on and took hold of his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Peeta turned to look at him and found a worried gaze looking back at him.

"Eh, same as usual," Mario replied.

"How's her . . . um . . . arm?" Iggie enquired. Mario laughed.

"It wasn't her arm, it was her leg," he said. "And it's nothing she couldn't handle. Tethered to a radiater right this moment just to make sure she won't make a break for it, stupid idiot."

"Did she see a doctor?"

"There's nothing wrong with her, she's just whining over nothing."

Kayla had stopped playing with the ball and was now making her way over to them. She sat on the ground between Peeta and Cato, fingering the stones on the ground. "Try not to listen," Cato said quietly. "Start talking about something."

"Like what?" Kayla hissed back.

"I don't know, anything," he turned to Peeta and smiled. "Tell us about your bakery back in 12."

Immediately recognizing an opening to talk on end, Peeta snatched the chance. He'd barely heard a conversation's worth of words from Mario but was already feeling sick to the stomach. So he talked for ages about the bakery and his brothers back home. It made him feel saddened talking about his family but it was the easiest way he could avoid listening to Cato and Kayla's uncle talk about his claimed partner.

When he couldn't think of anything else to say, Kayla helped him by asking questions. It seemed that neither her, nor Cato were too fond of listening to their uncle either. "So you've told us about your brothers and father, don't you have a mother?"

Peeta swallowed hard before coming out with a quick answer. "Yes but she doesn't live us anymore, my dad and her are divorced." This much was true, his dad had divorced his mom once she was arrested and taken to the capitol with Auntie Mya for trafficking her own son. It was a relief that he didn't have to lie about it either, or he'd make Cato more suspcious than he already was.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kayla said, ashamed that she'd asked.

"No, it's fine," Peeta replied.

"Okay, hold on, I'm going to see if we can escape," Cato said. He stood up and went over to Mrs Hadley- who must have appeared while Peeta had been talking. He whispered something into her ear and she turned to look at Kayla and Peeta, who were both sitting and watching. The woman listened to her son intently before nodding.

Cato came back and looked reassured. "She says we can go. Nothing important is happening so we can go into town." Kayla stood up and helped Peeta get up as well. They'd been sitting for a long time and he couldn't find the strength to push himself up with his cane.

"How can you stand that?" asked Kayla. "It'd kill me."

Peeta shrugged. "You get used to it." Cato led them around the side of the house quickly, desperate to get out of there, and let out a relieved breath as soon as they were out the gate.

"God, he's getting worse every day," he said as they headed down the road.

"Yeah," Kayla sighed.

"I'm sorry about him Peeta, he just . . . has unique opinions on claimed partners," Cato said.

Peeta shook his head. "No, it's fine. He's your uncle. It wasn't that bad anyway."

Kayla scoffed and tugged the bow off her skirt. "Are you kidding me? Your setences were nearly running into each other so often I could swear you were a slurring drunk. Mario does that to everyone. He makes them all uncomfortable when he talks about Gina, poor girl."

"What exactly is Mario's relationship with Gina?" asked Peeta.

"Gina is from District 9. She is a beautiful girl who doesn't deserve Uncle Mario. He claimed her ten years ago when she was only a teenager. She hasn't left his house since," Cato explained. "He's so damn crude about the whole thing. I wish he wasn't."

"We all do," Kayla muttered.

Peeta wanted to say that he couldn't imagine their Uncle Mario being a big mean man but he couldn't. He could easily imagine Mario being an awful man.

"People don't like to argue with him though because he won the Hunger Games," Cato said.

"He did?"

"Uh-huh. He won the 60th. That's where all the scars are from. Some crazed tribute from 6 tried to stab him to death but was incompetant with a knife," explained Cato. "He's never been the same since. People have been saying that we need to be careful with him because he's been fragile since then. I think it's just an excuse to let him do what he wants."

"Yeah," Kayla grumbled. "I think I'm going to go and see if Dala's home. Maybe I can stay over tonight." She quickly crossed the road and went down an alleyway that was placed between two houses.

"Do guys really not like your uncle _that_ much?" Peeta asked.

Cato shrugged. "We hate him. Plain and simple. He's a horrible man, Hunger Games victor or not. But he's also family. You can't ditch family. Iggie and him are very close. Kayla and I deal with him but it doesn't mean we have to love him."

That reminded Peeta of his mother. Even before she was arrested, his family dealt with her and had themselves convinced that they loved her and couldn't imagine life without her when the truth was really they didn't. She was violent and nasty and just plain cruel. His mother used to pick on him in particular because he was the youngest and, even if his father didn't admit it, they had been expecting a baby girl. His eldest brother Wayne (they called him Wheat as a joke) was the only one who was old enough to remember Peeta's birth as his other brother Rye was only a toddler. He was the one who confided in him that their parents had been expecting a little Patricia instead of a little Peeta. And his mother had been cold ever since.

Maybe Cato and him had a lot more in common that he'd first thought.

Cato took a turn and led him to another alley that cut between a house and an apartment building. It was bordered with two tall red fences that towered over them both and darkened the area even though the sun was shining. "So you're, I'm not going to say happy because it's probably a poor choice of wording, but are you . . . getting used to life here alright?"

Peeta chuckled. "You mean the exact same question you asked last night only worded differently?" he asked.

"Kind of, yeah. Just with Mario and all . . ."

"It wasn't that bad," Peeta protested.

"Yes, it was, and I'm sorry," replied Cato. He paused before taking another look at Peeta's clothes. He frowned. "Did Kayla dress you this morning?"

"Uh . . . yeah. Why? Is it bad?" Peeta tugged nervously on the white hoodie tassels, worried that Kayla had dressed him up like some idiot and he'd just went out in front of Cato's family like that.

"No, you actually look great. Kayla actually has a good sense of style . . . I never noticed," Cato said. "Love the boots." Peeta glanced down at the boots and cursed when he saw the shoelaces undone.

"Crap, can you hold this a minute?" He handed Cato the cane and bent down to tie up his laces again. Cato leant against the stick casually as he did so and was watching him intently as he stood back up. "What?"

"Hmm? Oh nothing."

"Tell me."

"Honestly, it's nothing."

"If it's nothing then just tell me."

Cato grinned and handed him back the cane. "I just can't help thinking about how much I want to kiss you again."

"Really?" Peeta squeaked. He chewed the inside of his cheek. It would be a lie if he said he hadn't wanted that as well but it scared him when he thought like that because he was still confused by the whole 'physical affection' area. But when Cato nodded and took a step toward him, he fought to stand his ground. Every instinct told him to flinch, cower away, _hide,_ but a voice at the back of his head assured him that Cato wasn't going to hurt him.

"Mmm-hmm," Cato murmered. He reached out and cupped his hand over his cheek, surprised when Peeta leaned into it. His hand was just so warm and comforting. He lightly traced his lips with his fingertips and smiled softly. "When you were talking about the bakery I couldn't help but steal glances at your mouth and wish that I could just constantly kiss it."

"Um-"

"Not in a weird way though. It's just I couldn't help it and . . ." He didn't finish the sentence because he had already moved his face forward far enough to kiss him. Unlike the last time, Peeta wasn't as surprised and found himself responding quite eagerly. Lost in the haze, Peeta wrapped his arms around Cato's neck.

Cato grinned and pulled him flush against his body. The closeness made Peeta gasp, but in a shocked way that he enjoyed. It gave him a surge of adrenalin, kissing in a place where anyone could walk through and see them, and the excitement propelled him forward. It seemed to propel Cato forward too.

While one arm stayed firmly wrapped around Peeta's waist, Cato cupped his cheek again and tilted his head back to deepen the kiss. Peeta found himself softly moaning, opening his mouth almost as soon as Cato brushed his bottom lip with his tongue. He fell back against the fence, his leg finally giving out from standing too long.

Cato pulled back, a look of concern on his face. "Are you alright?" he asked, slightly out of breath.

"Y-yes." Peeta internally cursed as he stumbled with his words, suddenly shy and flushing in embarrassment. "Just my leg."

Cato looked down and made a hissing sound through his teeth. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

Peeta winced. "Little bit." He yelped as Cato scooped him up into his arms like a bride and groom when crossing the threshold of their honeymoon house. Cato chuckled.

"And here's me thinking you were swooning over how amazing I'am at kissing," he said. He took the cane from Peeta's hand and tucked it inbetween the boy's knees. "Although I do think I'm wearing you down with my astounding skills."

"Your modesty is what I find astounding," replied Peeta.

Cato laughed and kissed his cheek. "I know, a lot of people do. It's astonishing." He started walking back out of the alleyway in the direction of their house. "Is there anything you can take? To help your leg?"

"Not really. It doesn't as much hurt any more as it just goes numb," Peeta answered. "Sometimes when I stand still for too long I lose all feeling where the . . . scar . . . is and I can't walk any more."

"So nothing can be done?" Cato asked.

"Not really, no."

Cato held him tight the whole walk home before putting him down at the front door and sneaking up the stairs before anyone realized they were back. When they reached Peeta's room, they both parted with a quick yet slightly awkward goodbye.

Peeta sat down on the bed and ran a nervous hand over his face. He felt unnaturally warm after the kiss with Cato in the alley and had to fan himself with his hand to quell it. He toed off the brown boots and let them clatter to the floor. The events of the past few hours had exhausted him so he changed into the same pj's he'd worn the previous night and got into bed, even though it was probably still later afternoon.

_He was tired. So, so tired he could barely stand on his own anymore. The floor would occasionally jerk and sway underneath his feet but the world around his was too darkened by sharp black shapes to be certain whether there was something to brace himself on near him or just more dark abyss._

_The cloak didn't fit him. The sleeves nearly reached the floor and the back swept the ground beneath him. They were afraid he'd catch pnuemonia so they'd given him the thick cotton garment to keep him warm. He may have been exhausted beyond standing but there was no way he was going to sit down again. If he sat down again then maybe they'd decide to chain him again. And he never wanted to be chained again._

_He could feel himself whirling almost inconsistantly as the ground moved beneath him. The dark shapes were getting darker, blotting out anything real or anything he could use to assure himself that he wasn't going mad. How long had he been gone now? A few weeks surely. It felt like forever. How many cups of liquid had they given him telling him to drink up that had left the world spinning and moprhing before his eyes?_

_He couldn't even think straight any more. He laughed hysterically for hours on end when he thought about seeing daylight once more, then spent more wondering if he even remembered what daylight looked like before bursting into derranged tears because he didn't know what he was to think anymore. Everything was just so jumbled up in his mind._

_Auntie Mya told him it was for the best, that she was helping him. That he needed to learn how to kiss for every day life. He thought of how her hands would map him out without shame, her voice constantly ringing in his mind, "Stop being such a baby and stay still!" He couldn't help but flinch at the touch of her cold skin on him. "I paid your mother good money to take you in and goddamn it you better co-operate!"_

_She'd be kind, then nasty. Sweet then sour. Lovely then vile. Gentle then violent. She terrified him. He sometimes wondered what sort of aunt had to pay for her own nephew, and what it was that she was preparing him for. If it was worse than what he was already suffering, then he was petrified of his future._

_The darkness grew bigger, swelling unitl he could see nothing at all. Just solid blackness blocking his eyes of everything. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed, desperate to be able to see again. It was as if the darkness was trying to swallow him whole, suffocating him under every drop of oxygen left his body._

_The ground jerked again and this time he stumbled, falling to his knees. He gasped for air but couldn't find any. Was this it? Was he going to die? _

_A shaft of light burst out suddenly and he was almost sure he had died and this was the gates of heaven before him. "Police!" A voice shouted._

_He only got a glimpse of a black silohuette before his arms gave out and he hit the floor with a heavy bang that rang out through his bones. _

_Only the bang hadn't been his body hitting the floor. _

_A sharp pain stabbed his thigh, building and swelling until it was almost unbearable. He tried to scream but his throat was too raw. Surely this was it. Only a much crueler and painful way to go. Maybe he was being dragged to hell instead of heaven to suffer for how unclean he was. _

_Yes, he was definitely dying._

_It was bound to happen sometime._

This time when he woke up, Peeta wasn't prepared for it and bolted off the bed in a cold sweat. His body slammed into something hard and he shrieked, struggling as arms wrapped tightly around him, almost sure it was Auntie Mya returning for him.

"Peeta, it's me!" A voice exclaimed. "It's Cato, calm down!"

The effect his voice had on Peeta was instant and he immediately relaxed into the career's arms. He was ashamed. He'd obviously been screaming again and had woken Cato up. Why else would he be in his room so late at night? And now he'd basically attacked him, thinking he was his evil 'aunt' coming back to haunt him. How much of a selfish idiot was he really?

"Are you okay?" Cato asked in concern.

"Yeah," replied Peeta. His voice was thin and weak, cracking in the middle of the word.

"Why were you screaming?"

Not wanting to answer, Peeta tried to pull out of Cato's arms. The career wouldn't allow it, holding him tighter. It should have scared him at how authoritive he was being but Peeta felt at ease in Cato's embrace, especially after such a horrifying nightmare. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell Cato yet about the nightmares but what if he didn't leave him alone on the topic until he did?

"I had a nightmare," Peeta whispered.

Cato brushed his fingers through his hair to get it out of the boy's eyes. "About what?"

"It's complicated."

"I like complicated."

Peeta looked up at him nervously. "You're not going to give up on it until I tell you are you?" he asked.

"Nope," answered Cato. "I just want to find out what's bothering you to see if I can help."

Peeta laughed bitterly. "No one can help this."

"At least tell me and let me be the judge of that," said Cato. He held Peeta out at arm's length, searching his eyes as if they would give him the answer. "Please tell me. Keeping secrets isn't healthy."

Peeta looked down into his lap glumly. "Okay," he said. "I'll tell you."

_A/N: If you want to get an image of the outfit Kayla dressed Peeta in, think of the clothes Peeta is wearing in that Catching Fire photo that was recently released. The one of Katniss and him at the Quarter Quell reaping. I loved that outfit only in this the hoodie is a different colour ^_^_

_Preview: Chapter Six:_

_Cato's expression was saddened, weighted down by the story he'd just been told. He gathered Peeta into his arms and rocked him gently. "It's alright. You don't have to be afraid anymore."_

_"I can't help it. The nightmares keep coming. And they're never going to stop."_

_Please R&R! :D_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Hey guys! In this chapter you learn more about Peeta's past and a bit of Cato's as well! A lot is revealed! ;)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games_

Chapter Six

The worst thing you will ever witness in your entire life is your father crying. Because when you were a child you believed that your father was the big, strong man who was going to keep you safe at night when the monsters under your bed come to get you or during the day when your mother would get angry or worked up. When Peeta was a child, every time he'd have a nightmare his dad would come to him in the dark and stay with him until he fell asleep again.

_"If the monsters ever come again,"_ he'd tell him, _"you tell them, 'I'm going to tell my daddy,' and I can guarantee they will run away in fear because they know I'll always be there to keep you safe."_

Peeta had never seen his father cry until the previous year. He'd thought his father never cried because he'd always seemed so stable and strong. Even when his mom would lose it and scream and yell, blaming everything that went wrong on him. Even when she raised her fist to her children in front of him. He was always strong, he was always stable. He never lost his cool.

But when Peeta was returned home after the kidnapping, his father burst into tears. His family weren't allowed to see him when he was in the healer's in case they were in on what his mother had done to him. But they weren't, and eventually he was allowed to come home after being treated. The moment he laid eyes on his son, Mr. Mellark broke down. And from that day on, Peeta could never get the image out of his mind. Of how desperate his dad had looked, his pained sobs forever ringing in his ears.

"My mother was a violent woman," Peeta began. Cato sat across from him, holding his hands, ready to listen carefully to everything he was about to say. "It wasn't her fault . . . well, that's what my brothers and I were raised to believe. If the slightest thing went wrong at home or in the bakery, it would make her angry and she'd most likely lash out. Mostly on . . . me because I somehow always ended up the person who'd cross her path at the wrong time."

Cato's eyebrows drew together in concern. "She didn't . . . beat you did she?"

Peeta closed his eyes and sighed. "Occasionally," he admitted. "Not enough to leave bruises but still enough to sting. She'd always tell me that it was my fault for forcing her hand and for a while, I believed her." He wasn't sure why he was telling Cato all this. He barely knew him and yet he was telling him things he'd never devulged to anyone. Maybe that was it. Telling someone-even if it was someone he didn't know that well-was already feeling good and he hadn't even said a lot yet.

"Didn't your dad stop her?"

Peeta laughed bitterly. "My dad couldn't do anything. He never hurt me but there was nothing he could do to stop my mom. There was nothing any of us could do really. She was the Mario of our family." Cato immediately noted the use of past tense when Peeta said 'was' the Mario of their family.

"So, does your mom give you the nightmares?" he asked.

The room was still, the air thick, in the moments in which it took Peeta to answer. He shook his head. "No, they're not about my mom. I grew up with her behaving the way she did. I wasn't scared of her, I was scared of the damage she caused."

"Then what's making you scream?" Cato said. "I keep thinking you're in trouble every night."

"I'm sorry about that. I have a lot of baggage that I can't let go off," Peeta explained. "And even I could have told you that if I'd had the chance when you chose me. I don't want to have to wake you up every night so maybe I shouldn't even be here anymore because I'm too much of a burden."

Cato's face melted into a scowl. "Don't talk like that," he said. "You're not a burden. I chose you because I didn't want anyone else but you to be my partner. I don't care if you've got baggage. You just need to tell me what the problem is. I want to help you." He took in the slightly baffled expression on Peeta's face. He tightened his hands around Peeta's and tried to smile encouragingly. "Please tell me what the nightmares are about."

Peeta diverted his eyes to the ceiling and chewed the inside of his cheek nervously. "Last year, I was kidnapped," he finally said. Out of all the things he'd had to say in the past year-recollections of what happened while he was trapped in Auntie Mya's to the police, details of what his relationship with his mother had been like to a therapist, lies when asked where the scars on his leg came from at school-the one sentence that never passed his lips was exactly that. 'I was kidnapped.'

"Kidnapped?" Cato repeated. He was alarmed. All the possible senarios that had ran through his head had ranged from childhood bullying to alien abduction but the one thing he had never thought of was kidnapping. He didn't know why.

"Yes. Kidnapped," Peeta confirmed. He still refused to look anywhere but the ceiling. "Remember last year there was the District-wide economy crash?" Cato nodded. "Yes, well, the crash affected a lot of the Merchant businesses in 12, including our family bakery. We had been forced to raise prices of everything in store and no one could afford to buy anything anymore which made the business plumment. And I mean _plumment._

"This kind of stressed my mom out. It made her more cranky and irritable than usual and even asking her how her day was would make her snap. She worried that we'd end up losing the bakery because if that happened then we'd end up on the streets. My dad suggested that she go to her friend's house for a couple of days to wind down and relax. She did but . . . she didn't come back for about a week."

Cato-who had been listening with the upmost attention-intercepted, "So she'd stayed at her friend's house for a week?"

"That's what she had us believe when she left," Peeta answered.

"And it wasn't?"

"No," Peeta replied. "She went somewhere else . . ."

Cato stroked the back of Peeta's hand with his thumb. "Where'd she go then?" he asked gently.

Peeta took a deep breath, ready to answer, and deflated miserably. "I don't think I can talk about it," he said, shaking his head. "I've never told anyone before. Anyone outside who already know. And the only people who know are my family. How would I know you'd understand? I don't think I'd be able to handle it if you got disgusted . . . I just . . . can't . . ." He looked at Cato with blurry eyes and cursed himself under his breath. "I need to go to the bathroom," he murmered.

He moved to get up but as soon as he was on his feet, Cato pulled him back down and smashed his lips against Peeta's. They'd only kissed twice before but it still made the caged butterflies inside Peeta's stomach beat their wings in a frenzy. He got lost in the softness of the kiss and sat back down on the mattress. Cato framed his face with his hands and gently leaned back. "Where did your mother go?" he asked as gently as he could. His breath brushed Peeta's face, the soft brush of air soothing him greatly.

"To the edge of the District, to Auntie Mya," Peeta whispered. Even speaking her name sent a feeling of uneasiness through his being. He suddenly felt debilitated.

"You had an aunt Mya? Was she your mother's sister?"

Peeta shook his head. "She wasn't my Auntie. For a while she'd convinced me that she was. I believed she was but . . . no. She was no blood relation to me at all."

"Then who was she?"

Peeta studied Cato inquistively. Why did he care so much? Was he asking all these questions to hold the truth over his head as a bargaining chip or a blackmail tool to use later in life? Something in the look in the career's eyes told him this wasn't true. There was something-a spark? a gleam? Peeta wasn't sure-that told him Cato really did want to help him. How Cato _could_ help him was still a mystery.

"Auntie Mya got her money from kidnapping minors and bringing them up to be sex slaves to later be sold through inter-district connections," Peeta explained gravely. "Most of the time her partner and herself would kidnap the kids on their own, using their personal judgement over whether the child would be any good for them or not, but sometimes they accepted recommendations and paid people off to let them take their infants or adolscents."

"Wait, _what?! _That's . . . horrific! Why haven't they been arrested? If you know this all, shouldn't the authorities have gotten involved? Are your peacekeepers stupid or something?" Cato asked.

"Stupid? No. Lazy? Yes. When a child went missing not much was done about it. A load of Seam kids used to think they could run away, go under the fault in the fence and make a run for it. The peacekeepers thought this was the explanation for all missing children and wrote it off that way. If they got caught in the forest then they'd get taken to the Capitol, no longer in their jurisdiction. They didn't know about Mya or her partner at all. Not many people did."

Cato frowned, his eyes squinting in slight bewilderment. "How do you know then?"

Okay, now or never. Peeta could tell that he was prolonging the time before he had to tell Cato the truth. If he kept procrastinating it then he would end up telling a lie. Which Cato would just see through and they'd end up going around in circles.

"Because the week my mom had vanished was the week she went and convinced Auntie Mya to buy me off her."

It took Cato a moment to understand. Even then he still looked disoreintated. "What?" he asked slowly.

"My mom sold me off." Peeta shrugged, trying to bursh it off like a speck of dust. "When she came back home, the very next day she sent me on a bread order at eight o'clock at night and . . . Auntie Mya kidnapped me."

Cato was floored. Completely stupefied. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. How do you react to something like that? "They saved you right? You got out quick. You must have, you're here right now. You must have escaped!"

"They had me for a week."

_"A week?!" _A lot could happen in a week. Seven days. 24 hours each. 168 hours. That was too long. Cato hardly knew Peeta-even if he had chosen this man to be his partner-and yet the thought of anyone or anything hurting him made Cato _very_ angry. And the thought of him being trapped with someone like the woman Peeta had described made him _pass_ angry and cross the line into furious, mad, enraged. _No word_ covered it. "What happened?"

"I can't remember. I honestly can't. They drugged me too much. My memory of the whole ordeal is in pieces. The only time I do relive times is in my . . . dreams."

"Is-is that what the nightmares are about then?"

Peeta nodded. "Yes. At least I think. Sometimes I can't even recall the dreams because they escape me so quickly once I wake up again. If I'm honest, I'd rather not remember. It seems that my head doesn't appreciate that though." He angrily rapped his knuckles against his forehead.

Cato took his hands and pulled them away from his forehead before he did some damage. His expression was saddened, weighted down by the story he'd just been told. He gathered Peeta into his arms and rocked him gently. "It's alright. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

"I can't help it. The nightmares keep coming. And they're never going to stop."

Cato eyes darkened and his voice lowered as a question suddenly came to mind. "Did they hurt you?" Peeta didn't answer. Instead he glanced uneasily at his cane which currently sat propped up against the wall by the bed where he always left it. Cato followed his gaze.

"Your leg," he said.

"It wasn't Auntie Mya who . . . hurt my leg . . ." Peeta said. "It took a total battering when the peacekeepers finally came to rescue me. Most of the damage though was done by Mya's partner in crime . . . I can't remember his name even to this day."

"What happened?"

"When the peacekeepers came, Mya's partner was at the back of the room. I can't remember why . . . I was nearly completely out of it. When they saw him, they fired a shot at him without really thinking about it. It missed _him_ and hit _me_ instead. The bullet lodged itself here-" Peeta pointed to the middle of the marbled scar on his thigh-"and bled rivers. I seriously thought that was how I was going to die.

"When they tried to take me out of the room to get me to the healer, Mya's partner grabbed me by the ankle and dragged me back behind him and . . . broke my leg with his bare hands to keep me behind him. Now I don't remember this, it's what I was told when I came to in the healer's. So I don't remember the exact moment he actually broke my leg or how he did it but it never healed properly and that's why I need the cane."

Cato had been staring at the cane the entire time that Peeta had explained this, his face hard and devoid of emotion. "Why's the scar marbled?" he asked.

"A fire," Peeta replied. "Some . . . time during the struggle to apprehend Mya's partner, there was a fire. Once again, another thing I was told. Not remembered. The flames didn't get me too bad but still brunt me to where the scar begins-what you saw when Kayla fell over with the quilt in her hands-all the way up to here." He pointed at his hipbone where the carnage of the fire finally ended. "That's the only pain I can remember having to recover from but from my nightmares I think I can safely say it's not all the pain I went through . . ."

Silence followed and Peeta worried that he'd said too much. Maybe he'd disgusted Cato. Being such a coward about the entire situation. The whole repulsive thing sickened him to his very stomach, especially now that he'd spoke about it out loud. He hadn't even revealed this much to his therapist.

"Peeta," Cato said in a quiet voice.

"Yeah?"

"I need you to leave a moment."

"Why?"

Cato looked up at him, his eyes were suddenly grim and murky. "Because I'm about to do something really stupid and dangerous and I need you to leave to ensure your safety."

"My . . . safety?"

"Yes. Your safety."

His tone of voice scared Peeta. There was something-a tint, an undertone, a rise at the wrong word-that made him immediately stand up, grab his cane and leave as instructed. He was barely out the door before a vehement crash exploded inside the room. Peeta jumped out of his skin and whirled around to stare at the closed door in stupefied horror as more loud sounds emnated from the room, mingling with the occasional frustrated yell from Cato.

Kayla appeared almost instantiously at the top of the corridor. "What's happened?" she asked calmly as the destruction continued inside.

"I told Cato . . . _something_ and he told me to leave because he was about to do something stupid and dangerous," Peeta explained. Kayla nodded and approached him serenely.

"You look shit scared," she said. "White as a ghost. It's fine, I promise."

"What's wrong with him?" Peeta asked.

Kayla sighed. "We should have told you this before. All of us: me, mom, dad. It's our fault that you don't know but . . . okay, here it is. Cato used to suffer severe bi-polar disorder. It's not as bad _now. _The meds have helped him imensely what with recent technological and medical development and all that, you know? The mood swings used to be horrific, hard to control. When he was ten he got this idea to go on holiday to District 1 without me, or mom, or dad, or anyone. He'd gotten so excited and hyped up about it that he'd ran off on his own to try and make it happen. When he got caught and taken home he went into this _deep_ depression. He didn't speak to me for weeks, he didn't speak to anyone for ages and I thought I'd lost him."

Kayla pointed at the door and smiled. "This doesn't happen anymore. To the point that I don't even remember fits like this occuring. It does happen on occasion though, most likely when he hears something he doesn't like. He doesn't hurt himself or others. In fact he can tell when it's about to happen and he sends anyone in the room out so he can deal with it."

Peeta was no expert but he would never of guessed that Cato had a mental disorder. He felt horrible that he'd brought this out in him when Kayla said it barely happened, so much so that she didn't remember it anymore. Was it the details of the story that had angered him? "Is he going to be okay?" he asked.

Kayla nodded. "Oh yeah. Just give him a couple of minutes to work it out. You might need another room though . . . but we'll sort that out later. He'll most likely let you know when he's okay so everything will be fine. I promise." She turned around to leave and was half way up the hallway again when Peeta called her.

"I thought you were at Dala's?" he asked.

"For a while. But I wasn't allowed to stay over. She has a funeral to go to tomorrow."

"Oh, right."

Kayla smiled. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you."

When he turned back around, Peeta noticed that the noise had calmed down during his conversation with Kayla. He hesitantly knocked on the door, his hand trembling. "Cato?" he whispered faintly. "Is everything alright? Are you okay?" When no response came, he turned the doorknob and gently pushed the door open. He peered fearfully through the silt created. Through the small slit, Peeta could just about make out Cato. The career was standing motionlessly in the middle of the room, sword in hand, chest rising and falling rapidly. "Cato?" he tried again.

"You can come back in," he replied.

The room was a wreck. Everything was destroyed, ripped apart with the blade of his sword. Peeta wasn't focused on the mess though, he was more worried about Cato in that exact moment. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly. As soon as he finished the sentence, Peeta was pulled into Cato's arms. He yelped in shock as his chest hit the hard wall that was Cato's torso. Cato held him so tightly that his cheek was smushed against his chest and his arms were pinned to his sides.

"I'am so sorry," Cato muttered into his hair. "I should have found out sooner. I can't believe I didn't try and get it out of you sooner."

"I don't talk about it," Peeta murmered. "It's not the sort of thing I like to relive. Even my therapist is vague about it all because I don't tell him too much."

"It's not the sort of thing you should keep to yourself. It's unhealthy. I'm surprised you don't suffer from depression or anything like that."

Peeta laughed dryly. "More like post traumatic stress over an experience I can't even remember." He could see the wreck of the room around him out of the corner of his eye. "What about you? Are you okay?"

"Yes," Cato said. "I just got so . . . _mad._ I'm sorry, I'm not normally like that. I just . . . can't believe you went through that." His hands were self-conciously rubbing circles on Peeta's back-a feeble attempt at comfort. "What happened . . . your mother? And Mya?"

"Mya's an avox," Peeta answered. "My mother . . . she's in the Capitol, I don't know what has happened her." He laughed bitterly. "And you know what's so ridiculous? I love her. I still love my mother after all of this. I can't seem to bring myself to hate her. Even though she hit me, even though she tried to sell me off to sex slave distributers, I cannot feel any animosty toward my mother. My brothers think I'm an idiot. They dispise her now because of how she'd acted while I was gone, while they believed I'd been kidnapped. Apparently she never broke a sweat. They found it so incredibly easy to loathe her. And yet even though they say I'm the one who went through the worst of it I cannot hate her. I still love her so much and I feel like the crappiest person ever because I don't know what I'd done to make her hate me so much and . . ."

He was crying now and he hated it. Crying was a _weakness._ A stupid fucking deficiency that just made him look powerless and fragile.

"Oh my god please don't cry," Cato begged, framing his face and carefully studying the boy's glittering wet eyes.

"I'm sorry, I know it's stupid," Peeta replied, desperately rubbing his eyes. "I'm such a foolish idiotic moron."

"You're not a moron," Cato said. "Just please, stop crying." Peeta blinked, prompting a tear to drip out of his eye. "I can't stand here and watch you cry. You're not stupid for loving your mom, even if she was a big-I'm sorry for this-_bitch._ You love her because you've got the biggest heart that just can't help but love everyone. And standing here and just knowing that you think that this is your fault, that you've done something to make your mom hate you the way you do . . . it's breaking my heart."

"I'm sorry," Peeta whispered, thinking Cato was telling him to stop being ridiculous.

"You have _nothing_ to be sorry about." He wiped a couple of tears off Peeta's cheeks with his thumbs. "What happened to you was not your fault."

"You don't know that-"

Cato interuppted him by kissing him firecely. "Yes, I do," he said. "How could it possibly be your fault? Please don't think like that. Wouldn't your therapist have convinced you of this already?"

"I don't know how he would have, since I never told him," Peeta muttered.

Cato sighed heavily and rested his chin ontop of the baker's head, letting the boy's soft curls caress his skin. "Oh Peeta," he murmered sadly. Peeta stayed silent, no longer crying but still blinking tears out of his eyes. He was content keeping his face buried in Cato's chest, comforted by the career's arms securely wrapped around him. There was something almost amenitic about how safe he felt in Cato's embrace. "Come on, you can stay in my room tonight. I'm not leaving you alone," Cato said, breaking the hug and taking Peeta's hand.

"I can handle being alone," Peeta sniffed, feeling completely drained after revealing all to Cato and crying like a spoilt infant.

"No, you can't," Cato said. He guided Peeta out of the wrecked room and led him up the hallway to his bedroom on the top left. It wasn't much different than the area Peeta had been staying in. Only more lived in. The floor was littered with clothes and shoes, the chest of drawers that was against the wall scattered with nick nacks and bits and bobs. "Sorry about the mess."

"It's fine," Peeta replied. Cato straightened out his bed a bit before pulling back the duvet and gesturing for him to get in. Completely spent and too exhausted to argue, Peeta did as he was told and climbed into the bed. Cato took his cane and made sure it was safely secured up against the wall. He wanted to make sure his partner was comfortable before he did anything else, tucking the quilt up and over Peeta's body like a mother might do to a child, and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

When he did finally get into the bed as well and relaxed, his arm almost immediately wound around Peeta's waist and pulling his back against his front. A voice at the back of Peeta's mind told him he should have been uncomfortable, he should have felt awkward, but the sensation wasn't coming so he just melted into the hug and let his eyes flutter shut so he could drift off to sleep.

And you know what was strange?

He slept soundly the whole night.

Without a nightmare.

_A/N: I'm no expert on bi-polar or post traumatic stress so sorry if anything is wrong but I don't think I made any major mistakes. _

_Preview: Chapter Seven:_

_"The reaping is tomorrow," he explained, his lips tapping a consistant path up the trembling boy's neck, "and I won't be able to see you for weeks."_

_Peeta felt weak, his knees knobbling together in fear of something he didn't even know he was scared of. "I d-don't know how to d-do this," he stuttered. A noise he didn't recognize came out of his mouth and his eyes widened in horrified embarrassment._

_Cato only chuckled, holding him closer to his body and pressing more knee weakening kisses under Peeta's jawline and enjoying the baker's inexperienced fumbling. "That's okay," he said, "I can fix that."_

_Please R&R! :)_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: There's a lot of medical talk in this one and we find out a bit about Kayla's background :D _

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games_

Chapter Seven

Cato woke up first. He was so comfortable that he kept his eyes shut, aware of the fact that he should wake up but not wanting to. He was in the same position he'd fell asleep in the previous night and was content staying that way. He knew his partner had moved in his sleep though-he could feel the boy's breath tickling his face when Cato was sure the boy had fell alseep with his back to him. Suddenly curious, he opened his eyes. Indeed, Peeta had turned in his arms. He was still asleep, eyes peacefully closed and chest rising and falling in a calm manner. Cato took the moment to get a proper look at his claimed partner.

He was beautiful. That was the only way he could put it. Even if beautiful was a frilly word that Cato barely used it was the only way he could describe it. In his sleep, Peeta looked happy and angry at the same time. His eyebrows furrowed together like Cato had seen him do when he was thinking but his lips were turned up in a small smile. His eyelids fluttered-a sign that he was deep asleep-and Cato wondered what he was dreaming about. It couldn't have been another nightmare-he looked too peaceful for it to be a nightmare.

Not only had he turned in his sleep, Peeta had managed to kick the duvet off himself while he slept. Was the room warm? Cato noted that he'd have to open the window when they got up. Peeta's arms were tucked tightly around Cato's waist, his head resting softly on the pillow right beside his. He had started snoring gently and the noise made the career smile. It was when the baker shifted in his arms that he noticed that his hand had somehow gotten underneath Peeta's shirt and was resting lightly on his bare side.

Now, Cato's self control wasn't the best and the skin on skin contact took a _lot_ to ignore. Because for the past-how many days had it been?-the career had been struggling to keep his cool. There was nothing more he wanted than to love his partner in more ways than just a quick kiss. Controlling himself during those kisses was hard enough because he didn't want to scare Peeta away. He knew that as a former citizen of District 12, he probably thought all of the careers were stereotypical killing machines and going too far too soon would just confirm that suspicion.

But the reaping was tomorrow and Cato wasn't sure how he was going to last so long without Peeta in the long weeks leading up to his victory. He'd planned to have been a lot further into the building of their relationship by now, not having predicted that Peeta had had such a traumatic past. Ever since he came to the District, the blond baker had been appearing in his dreams more and more, causing him to wake up painfully aroused with the urge to go into his partner's room and devour him.

He couldn't do that though. _He couldn't._ Especially not after what he learnt the previous night. Since Peeta couldn't remember what had happened that week he was kidnapped, it meant that there was no way Cato would know either, which also meant he didn't know what the bounderies were. He could do something that would scare him or bring back a memory or make him freak out.

Peeta shifted some more in Cato's arms and sighed in his sleep. Cato's fingertips brushed the end of the marbled skin on Peeta's hipbone-where he'd pointed out last night as where the fire had damaged his skin. Curious, he propped himself up on his elbow and ran his fingers over the damaged area. It looked so painful . . . But Peeta had said that it didn't hurt as much as it got numb any more. Still, he couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

As if feeling someone touching him, Peeta turned over on the mattress, inching away from the career's caress. Not out of fear but insecurity. Cato exhaled, looking at the clock on his bedside table. Nearly tweleve in the afternoon. There was no career training so that they could prepare for the reaping tomorrow. Cato's dad had always let Kayla and him sleep in on those days ever since they were kids. Eventually, they'd have to get up though. No matter how much he wanted to stay and watch his partner sleep.

"Hey, Peeta," he said, laying a hand on the sleeping boy's arm and giving him a gentle shake. The only response he got was a silky moan and a batting away of his hand. Cato smiled, entertained with his reluctance to get up. He probably hadn't had a decent night's sleep in ages. He brushed the hair off Peeta's face and whispered in his ear, "Come on Peeta, wake up."

"No," Peeta groaned. "Tired." Cato clenched his jaw. God, his sleepy voice was sexy.

"I know but it's nearly midday," I said. "We need to get up."

"You can get up," the boy murmered. "I stay here."

"Come on now, you have to get up." No response. "Okay, how about this? I'm going to go have a shower and when I come back, you get up and have one too, okay?"

"Mmmf," Peeta mumbled. Cato sighed and patted the younger blond's head before leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek. There was a tug in his stomach that he found difficult to ignore, his body wanting him to do_ much_ more than just peck his cheek. He forced himself away though, practically falling out of the bed. He stumbled into the bathroom and jumped into the shower before he did something he'd regret.

It was ridiculous. What this boy did to him. When he'd went searching for a partner he'd never thought he'd find someone who he'd be so attracted to like he was to Peeta. Apart from the Hunger Games, most of Cato's thoughts had been occupied with how he was going to look after the baker and how he was going to go about making him officially his.

Before the choosing ceremony in 12, the only time Cato got aroused was when he'd read porn magazines or watch it online and yet all Peeta had to do was blink at him and he'd feel something deep down. And that was only from a simple virtuous blink. His eyelashes would brush his cheeks and the golden glint would make the cerulean blue of his eyes shimmer and they were just so perfect . . .

Cato slapped himself. _Focus. _Tomorrow was the reaping. He could not let himself get so easily distracted. It was becoming much more streunous to ignore how much he wanted Peeta and all it was going to do was divert him from his training for the Games. Distracting him from winning. His mind was soley preoccupied with many worrying thoughts. What if Mario got to Peeta while he was trapped in the Games? Who knows what the fuck he'd do to him. He'd told Kayla to look after him while he was gone but there's only so much a fourteen year old could do.

The thought of his Uncle made Cato apprehensive so he quickly washed up, got out, dried off and then went back into the room. Peeta had rolled onto his back in the middle of the bed, fast asleep once more. His shirt had rode up and Cato avoided looking at the strip of skin exposed. Even if the boy didn't have a body made up of hard muscle it was still enough to make Cato feel warm after a cold shower. Giving himself another hard slap, he shook himself and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"Hey, Peeta, I'm back, you have to wake up now," he whispered. Peeta groaned again, rubbing his eyes. When he removed them, he looked at Cato through blurry half hooded lids.

"I'm up," he said. His voice was still rough with sleep. Cato raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"About time too," he joked. "Were you planning to stay asleep all day?"

"No," he scowled, pulling himself up to sit. "What time is it?"

"Half twelve."

"God, you should have woken me up sooner."

Cato laughed. "I tried to. You were being stubborn. Do you want to have a shower?"

Peeta nodded. "Yeah, okay." He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and grabbed his cane. He brushed a clump of hair out of his eyes and sat there for a moment. "Thank you," he said. "For listening to me about . . . everything."

Cato smiled and patted his back. "I'm here to listen to you about anything you want to tell me. And if I can help, I will. And if I can't, I will fix that so I can." Peeta looked over his shoulder at him and blinked, the clump of hair falling over his eyes again. He bit his lip and Cato could see that he was thinking something over. Contemplating asking something.

"Kayla . . . told me about . . ." He paused, turning back around so Cato was stuck staring at the back of his head.

"About what?"

"Your . . . mental . . . . mind . . thing . . ." Peeta sounded nervous, as if addressing the situation was something he thought was going to make him angry or frustrated. Maybe he worried that he was crossing a line by bringing it up?

Cato chuckled. "You mean the fact that I'm bi-polar?" he asked. "It's alright to say it you know. It's just as well she told you sooner rather than later."

He remembered the day he'd been diagonosed with bi-polar like it was just yesterday. There'd be days when he was a kid that he'd wake up in the worst of moods and if that was how he'd wake up then that was how he'd spend the rest of the day being. The next he could have been so hyper no one would be able to keep up with him. That wasn't good for when he was training because hyeractiveness and weapons were not a good mix.

Kayla was the first to notice it because she endured a lot of it. It made Cato sick when he first discovered that his eight year old sister was scared of him because she didn't know how he'd be feeling one day or how he'd react to something she said. It broke his heart to this day to know this. Kayla tried to convince him it was alright, that she loved him unconditionally but it had never comforted him. So his parents seeked out help.

The day he tried to run away . . . that was the day they perscribed him with anitdepressants. That was what they had believed was wrong with him at the time. When he'd first came up with the plan to move away on his own to a different district, he'd thought it was the cleverest thing anyone could ever think of and he did believe he could do it. He wanted to show them that he wasn't ill and that he didn't need medication . . . it didn't go to plan though.

His dad snatched him up after he had only made three miles on his bike. That was the first time he'd seen his parents cry. Because they had thought they'd lost him. Cato hated seeing his mom and dad cry and he hated that he was the one who'd made them cry. When he'd returned, his thoughts just _dropped_ and he didn't speak to anyone. Days were spent alone in his bedroom, weeks even, because he just couldn't _do it._ He was just so down. It was hard to explain.

Later, he was put on mood stabilizers and antipsychotics along with the antidepressants. He believed it meant he was crazy. It took a lot to convince him that this was not the case. As his condition improved, Kayla and himself became a lot more close than they had been before he was diagnosed because when they weren't together-when he was in his awful downswings-Cato wouldn't talk to her. He'd ignore her, brush her off, anything to avoid having a conversation with her. And he knew that if he didn't mend the relationship with her then they'd end up growing apart.

"Was what happened last night . . . was that the . . . ?" Peeta trailed off again, still a bit afraid of asking anything.

"Bi-polar? As I've said, you can say it. I won't go off the walls," Cato replied with what he hoped was a comforting smile. "And yes, it was."

Peeta pushed back on the bed and turned to look him in the eyes. "Was it because of what I said?"

"I'm not going to lie, it was," answered Cato.

When Peeta told him about his past, Cato had been trying his best to not react badly, to not have a manic episode, which he believed he'd be able to do right up until the moment he found out that those _people_ were the reason that Peeta needed a cane. Once he'd explained that, Cato felt it coming and it wasn't something he wanted Peeta to see. So he'd asked him to leave. He hadn't planned on telling Peeta about the bi-polar but he wasn't ashamed to talk about it if it did come up.

"Kayla said it doesn't happen often."

"It doesn't. I'm on medication and it works. I rarely suffer from the mood swings anymore because I know when it's coming and when I do I take the medication," Cato shrugged. "It's nothing to worry about."

Peeta chewed his lip worriedly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause it if it hasn't happened in so long."

"Hey, it wasn't your fault," Cato replied. "I asked you to tell me what the nightmares where about, and you told me. Whether I could handle it or not was not your problem. And the only reason I didn't tell you I had bi-polar was because I hadn't had a swing or an episode in months. But if you ever say something and it does cause a swing then never blame yourself because it's not your fault. Kayla used to do that but it wasn't her fault either. And if you have any questions, you can ask away, because I'm not defensive about anything."

Peeta twiddled with his thumbs and while he thought about it, Cato slipped into the bathroom and ditched the towel around his waist to get changed into some clothes. When he came back he was in the same position: sitting on the bed, playing with his fingers. His lips were pursed in concentration as he was thinking about it.

"Do you take medication then?" he finally asked.

"Yeah," Cato replied. "I've got anidepressants, mood stabilizers and antipyhchotics. Mental instability runs in my family, you see. Kayla has DID."

Peeta frowned. "DID?"

Cato nodded. "Dissociative Identity Disorder."

At first, Peeta wasn't sure what that meant but it finally occured to him when he remembered a specific day at school when a psychologist came to visit the school to talk about mental illnesses. "She has multiple personalities?"

"Yeah."

"But . . . doesn't that normally just happen to people who've been abused in the past?"

"Not nessecarily. Okay, what you need to understand about life as a career is that it's very pressuring. You're expected to start training as soon as you hit five and be amazing by the time you're fifteen. You have to have a talent, a skill you're amazing at, a weapon you can use with your eyes closed . . . it's hard work. And for a while Kayla couldn't do anything and she was terrified. Eventually she developed DID. She only has three 'alters' and they're all aware of who we are as her family and who you are as my partner."

"So, she is three different people?"

"It's hard to explain . . . I don't know really either . . . the only person who could tell you is her. There's Kayla, right? She's the host body. She's the person who's supposed to be in charge of her body but isn't. Then there's the alters. Jamie, Beth and Jack."

"Two of them are _men?_"

"Oh yeah. And they all have their own personalities and lives inside her head. Jack's an american. Beth's a vegetarian and Jamie often suffers insomina. He takes control of Kayla's body at parties because he's got an alcohol issue . . . but that's not important. Don't tell Kayla I told you, she doesn't discuss it."

His sister wasn't embarrassed of her illness just as Cato wasn't embarrassed of his but she didn't want to scare Peeta off with the knowledge that she could become any of four people. She was very close to her alters but knew that at some point she'd have to start visiting a therapist to gain control of her body again.

Deciding to get off the topic of Kayla's illness, Cato directed the conversation back to Peeta. "What about you? You said you had post traumatic stress?"

Peeta nodded. "After the kidnapping I was diagnosed with PTS. And I take Prazosin for insomina and the nightmares. For months afterwards I was on anti-anxiety meds because I was convinced Auntie Mya was going to come back for me but I eventually got off them when she was sentenced to become an avox."

"What helped you get off the anti-anxiety meds? If you don't mind my asking of course." Cato sat back down on the bed and took Peeta's hand away from his mouth because he'd started biting his thumbnail and that wasn't a good habit.

"Mostly exposure therapy," he admitted. "It's this thing where they . . . make you face what you find frightening from your experience and help you learn to cope with it. It took a while for it to work because I couldn't face it but it eventually got me off the Lorazapam-the anixety medication."

"Couldn't stop the nightmares though?"

Peeta laughed bittery. "Nothing can stop the nightmares." He paused. "Although I didn't have one last night."

"Did you take your Prazosin last night?" Cato asked.

"No," he mumbled. "I don't have my Prazosin with me. In District 2, I mean. You took me so suddenly I didn't really have a chance to . . . collect anything."

Cato inwardly cursed. More evidence of how much of a bad person he was. He hadn't even let Peeta say goodbye to his family and after what they'd went through last year when he'd gone missing . . . it truely was a cruel thing to do. "Is it easy to perscribe?"

"No, I don't think so. The worst of it is my therapist and doctor had been talking recently and were thinking of putting me on Klonopin. Aparently both it and the Lorazapam are evil so it wouldn't matter anyway."

Cato frowned. "Have you been okay without them? Because if your doctor and therapist thought you need them maybe I should organize for Kayla and yourself to go to 12 to get them while I'm in the Games."

"I'm fine so far," Peeta said. "The only reason they wanted to give me the Klonopin was because of the fact that in a couple of weeks it'll be a year since the kidnapping. I think it was a percaution."

Unable to stop himself, Cato reached over and wrapped his arms around him. Not resisting, Peeta let his head fall onto the career's shoulder. "I'm sorry I did this to you," he murmered. "If I had of knew I wouldn't have taken you so suddenly."

"I'm fine, honestly," Peeta replied. He paused and chewed his lip. "Does your medication have any side effects?"

Cato shrugged. "When I first took them I used to be violently sick but now I've been on them for six years, the only side effect I get is an increased sex drive. Which of course kind of sucks because I didn't have anyone until I chose you and I certainly don't want to scare you off."

"You don't scare me," Peeta said.

Cato raised his eyebrows. "I don't?"

Peeta shook his head. "No. You don't. Well, not as much anymore. I thought District 2 would be much more frightening than it really is, ditto for the people. Of course, I obviously can't pretend that I'm not apalled by how you can speak of killing people so easily . . . you all talk as if it's the easiest thing in the world . . . to take a life, I mean."

Cato nodded. "That's understandable. But, from people like Kayla and I's point of view, we wonder how the rest of you are so uptight when it comes to the Games. It's easier to treat it as something to be celebrated or else you're going to cry about it."

"I understand what you mean," Peeta replied. "But . . . don't you ever think that those people have lives of their own? Family praying for them to come home? Friends who wish for their survival? They're all like us as well . . . living, breathing, beating hearts. Don't you careers ever think of that when you take it all away from them?"

Cato shook his head. "We can't afford to think like that. You'd never survive five minutes if you think like that. It's easier to abolish the idea that these people are like us so that we can get home to our own family, our own friends. It's survival of the fittest. You cannot afford to think as softly as you do."

"Softly?"

"Your thoughts are too gentle. Too caring. You'd never be able to kill a human being."

Peeta smiled. "Thank you."

Now, if you'd went and told anyone else in District 2 that, you'd get in a fight for insulting another. And yet Peeta took it as a compliment that Cato didn't believe he'd be able to kill someone else. It was true, the younger blond didn't look like he would hurt a fly if he had the chance. Cato could imagine him as the type of person to open a window to let it escape rather than grab a shoe and squish it until it's guts came out.

"There's a party tonight to celebrate the reaping tomorrow," Cato said. "I'd like you to come with me."

Peeta frowned. "You would?"

"Yes," Cato nodded. "Will you come?"

The blond bit his thumbnail again in deep thought, chewing on it nervously. Cato never thought he'd be jealous of a thumbnail before and yet right that moment he was.

Finally, Peeta nodded. "Okay, I'll come."

~xXx~

Peeta wasn't a party person. He liked to be in places that are quiet and peaceful, not noisy and crowded. Even when it was his own birthday party, he'd stay up in his room as to not be forced to interact with people. Eventually his mother decided he was an ungrateful brat and stopped bothering with his birthday. He wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not.

That's why that night he stayed outside the house in which the D2 Reaping Party was taking place. There was a bench in the courtyard of the giant mansion and that's where he sat, twiddling uselessly with his thumbs and occasionally biting his nails. He didn't know who was the host of the Reaping Party but they seemed to have a lot of friends as nearly half of the District's teens attended. Then again, maybe that was how it worked. Anyone eligable for the Games welcome.

It was a cool night, the ink black sky empty of stars and the glittering full moon suspended in the air. The courtyard's grass bristled in the soft breeze that would occasionally brush past and make gentle whistling noises through the air.

Kayla had insisted to dress him again, making him wear a white dress shirt, black waistcoat and skinny jeans. He felt like an idiot, walking around in such tight denim when he'd be lucky if his work clothes at home would stay on him after being handed down to him from his brother. Feeling restricted, Peeta flicked open the first couple of buttons on the shirt.

He couldn't believe the stuff he'd learnt earlier. About Cato's bi-polar and Kayla's DID. He wondered if he'd notice when it wasn't her in control of her body. If he'd notice if it was Jamie or Beth or Jack. Surely he would though. Jack's an amercian and both Jamie and himself were men. Of course he'd notice if Kayla was a man all of a sudden. But her appearance wouldn't change . . . right?

Cato suddenly dropped into the seat beside him. The first thing Peeta picked up on was the distinctive smell of alcohol. Were you allowed to drink at sixteen in District 2? How odd. And dangerous. The career was beaming, obviously slightly tipsy, as he threw his arm around the boy's shoulders, pulling him close to his body. "Hey Peet, how's you?" he asked.

"Alright," the boy replied, trying his hardest not to scrunch up his nose at the smell. Cato rested his head on his shoulder, his hair tickling Peeta's neck and causing him to suppress a smile.

"Then why aren't you inside?" Cato asked.

Peeta shrugged. "I'm not a party person . . ." He paused as the career pressed a kiss to the side of his throat. Then another. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"You're so hot," Cato murmered, pressing more kissing to the boy's throat. Peeta laughed nervously.

"You're so drunk," he replied, pushing him back slightly to look him in the eyes. Indeed, Cato was past tipsy. What was the sign of being drunk? Blown up pupils? Or was that when someone's high on a drug? He should find Kayla . . . she knew the way back to their house. The best thing to do was get Cato back home so he could sleep it off. He was volunteering for the Games later . . . "Come on, let's go find your sister." He took Cato's hand and pulled him to his feet, only to be spun around by the career. Even when he was drunk, he was strong.

"Why? We don't need her," he said, his hand gliding through Peeta's hair and pulling his face closer to his.

"How much did you drink tonight exactly?" Peeta asked. He flinched as Cato tilted his head over and sloppily kissed his neck.

"The reaping is tomorrow," Cato explained, his lips tapping a consistant path up the trembling boy's neck, "and I won't be able to see you for weeks."

Peeta felt weak, his knees knobbling together in fear of something he didn't even know he was scared of. "I d-don't know how to d-do this," he stuttered. A noise he didn't recognize came out of his mouth and his eyes widened in horrified embarrassment.

Cato only chuckled, holding him closer to his body and pressing more knee weakening kisses under Peeta's jawline and enjoying the baker's inexperienced fumbling. "That's okay," he said, "I can fix that."

_Get a hold of yourself Peeta!_ he scolded himself. "Cato, you're drunk, come on, let's find Kayla and go home-" Cato silenced him with his lips, the taste of alcohol still lingering in his mouth. Lost in the moment, Peeta's eyes closed in pure bliss, his mouth opening of it's own accord when the intoxicated career probed for entrance. As Cato explored his mouth, his arms wrapped around the boy's waist and pulled him flush against his body.

"Oh jeez, what did I walk into it?" A male voice with a distinct english accent asked. Cato and Peeta jumped, the younger blond hastily pulling out of the career's arms and straightening himself up. Who was this? A friend of Cato's? When he turned around he was slightly startled to find Kayla standing watching them.

"Kayla?"

Kayla's eyebrows furrowed into a frown before she smiled. "Oh, you must be Peeta!" she said. No, that wasn't her. It was her voice but there was something distinctly different about it that wasn't her. She sounded like a guy. "How stupid of me. Sorry, I'm Jamie." She held her hand out and Peeta shook it hesitantly.

"God Jamie, you always come at the wrong time," Cato moaned. His words were starting to slurr and Peeta had to hang onto him to stop him from keeling over.

Jamie rolled his eyes. "You, my friend, are drunk. I have to take you home before you throw up. You're volunteering tomorrow remember."

"I'm fine," Cato insisted. Kayla's alter sighed and shook his head.

"No, you need your sleep. Come on." He walked over to them and hooked his arm under Cato's and started guiding Peeta and him in the direction of their house.

"I'd suspect you have questions," Jamie said to Peeta.

"Kind of," Peeta replied.

Jamie smiled. "Okay, here's how I, from my experience, can put it. I'm Kayla's main alter. I know everything about her and her life. My sole goal is to keep herself and her body safe. I also keep Beth and Jack in order."

"So you're aware of the others?"

"Oh yeah. I shut Beth up when she starts moaning about not eating meat when Kayla's eating her meals. It gets irritating after a while to have an active vegetarian harping on about animal rights when you're trying to keep the peace."

"Where's . . . Kayla? Right now I mean?" Peeta asked.

"She's in here." Jamie tapped his head. "I don't often take over her body but there's something about her attending parties that makes me uneasy."

"You're an alcoholic Jamie, face it," Cato said.

"I am not," Jamie replied indignantly. "It seems that Cato here thinks that just because everytime his sister attends a party I take over it means I'm an alcoholic when it's really just to keep her safe. Because he doesn't seem to realize that's what the alters do."

"Oh I understand what you do find and dandy, I just wish you'd leave my sister alone."

Jamie shook his head. "That's not how it works."

"I'm guessing you two aren't the best of mates?" Peeta asked.

"We are," Jamie said. "But not when he's drunk."

Cato sighed heavily. "I'm not drunk! I'm just pissed off that you showed up at the wrong time!" The arm Peeta had slung around his shoulders tightened as Cato pulled him closer. He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, you're drunk," he said.

They argued this the whole way home and when they finally got to Cato's room, both Jamie and Peeta were exhausted from trying to convince the career that he was intoxicated. Kayla's alter tied his/her hair up into a ponytail and wiped his brow. "Well that was some operation," he said.

"You're telling me," Peeta muttered. He pointed at Cato. "You need to sleep this off."

Jamie took a pill from his pocket and threw it at Cato, who swiftly caught it. "Swallow that. It'll sober you up fair and quick. You are _not _ending up like Haymitch Abernathy. Drunk as a skunk every year on live t.v." He glanced at Peeta. "No offence."

Peeta sighed and shrugged. "None taken."

"Anyway, I better hit the hay," Jamie said, stretching. "I'm beat."

"Probably from all the drink," Cato pointed out.

"I'm not an alcoholic!"

Cato grinned goofily and mouthed 'denial' at Peeta. Peeta found that pretty funny, coming from the person who was really drunk. He said goodnight to Jamie-he wasn't sure he was going to get used to that-before turning around and finding Cato about to throw the pill in the trash. "Cato!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing?!"

"I'm not drunk," Cato simply replied.

Peeta lurched across the room as he dropped the pill and caught it before it dropped into the trashcan. He blew the damned clump of hair out his eyes in relief and sighed. He turned to tell him to take the pill when something suddenly threw him onto the bed. His back hit the mattress hard and he yelped.

Cato climbed ontop of him and kissed him hungrily, his hands running through his hair roughly. It felt good, having the career's weight crushing him into the bed, but he couldn't let it continue. It was taking advantage to let something like this go on when Cato was oh so clearly drunk even if he wouldn't admit it.

"Cato," he murmered against the older blond's lips. "Stop."

The career ignored him, rolling onto his back so Peeta was lying ontop of him. As his lips worked as the baker's, his hand travelled under the boy's shirt and climbed up his back. The skin on skin contact made Peeta shiver and he found it difficult to rip his mouth off Cato's.

"Cato," he whispered. "You're not thinking straight."

"I am," Cato insisted, his mouth returning to his partner's neck and sucking where his neck connected to his shoulder. Peeta moaned, his eyes rolling behind his head, before he mentally slapped himself.

_Focus, _he scolded himself. Thinking on his feet, he put the pill into his mouth while Cato's head was buried in the crook of his neck, hiding it underneath his tongue. He then pulled the career's head back to kiss his lips. While they made out, Peeta slipped the pill out from under his tongue and pushed it into Cato's mouth. Before the career could react, he slapped his hand over his mouth and pinched his nose.

"Swallow it," he demanded.

There must have been a sedative in the pill because almost immediately after being forced to swallow, Cato fell asleep. Peeta sighed and climbed off the boy's body. He pulled the quilt up and over the career's body and made sure he was nice and cosy before sitting on the edge of the bed and running a hand over his face.

Something weird was happening. To him. He was starting to actually care about Cato, which he never thought he'd do. When he first came to the District, he wouldn't have gave a damn if Cato hadn't of taken that pill to sober him up before the reaping tomorrow and yet there was a part of him that didn't want Cato to look like an ass on t.v.

Was he developing feelings for him?

No, he couldn't.

He mustn't.

_A/N: Ah, so Kayla has multiple personalities. I saw a documentary on DID and was fascinated by it so I decided to write it in ^_^_

_Preview: Chapter Eight:_

_"Primrose Everdeen!"_

_Peeta's heart dropped into his stomach in pure horror as his best friend's little sister was called out by Effie Trinket. The little girl emerged from the crowd, her face pale and sickly. She tucked the back of her blouse into her skirt and suddenly a girl cried out._

_"Prim!" _

_No. No way._

_"Prim!" Katniss pushed through the crowd and pushed her sister behind her at the stairs of the stage. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"_

_Effie Trinket grinned and twittered happily before declaring, "And now for the boys!"_

_Please R&R! :D_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: I apologize for the delay, I was away on holiday most of this week and it's my birthday on Saturday so I've been very busy! My mom bought me a cake with Josh Hutcherson on it! *Girly squeal* _

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games._

Chapter Eight

Peeta awoke to lips pecking a trail up his bare back. He didn't remember taking his shirt off but the feeling was so sweet and comforting he didn't dwell on it. He nuzzled his head further into the soft pillow and quietly moaned. Hot breath brushed past his ear and he shivered. "Wakey, wakey," Cato whispered.

"Mmf," he vaguely replied.

Cato kissed below his ear and he softly whimpered. "Thank you for giving me the pill last night," he said. "I really needed it."

"I know, that's why I made sure you took it," Peeta replied. He paused and realized that he wasn't wearing pants either. "Where are my clothes?"

"You'd fallen asleep ontop of the covers in your clothes from last night," Cato explained. "And I didn't want them getting wrinkled." He nuzzled his nose behind Peeta's ear and the baker giggled-seriously, _giggled_-at the ticklish feeling. "So I took them off."

"You took off my clothes?" Peeta asked. He was surprised to find his voice light and flirty.

"Mm-hmm," Cato murmered. He then leaned in closer and whispered, "You have a beauty mark on your lower back." Previous confidence forgotten, Peeta blushed, desperately attempting to hide it in the pillow. He could feel Cato's smile burning into the back of his head. "And you've got a scar on the back of your left calf."

Peeta shuddered, only vaguely remembering where that had came from. Something Mya had done to 'prepare' him for slavery. He was almost glad he didn't remember what that was. Thankfully, it wasn't a big scar. It was only a small thing that, really, you'd only be able to spot if you looked closely enough.

He turned onto his back to get a look at the career. Cato was kneeling on the bed kitted out completely in black. A dark as night tank top was stretched tightly across his chest and a pair of stygian jeans were fitted to his form perfectly. Peeta found a whole different sort of blush rise in his cheeks and he brought it down to the heat of the room. Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he gave the older blond a skeptical look.

"And why were you looking so closely to the back of my calf?" he asked.

Cato quirked an amused eyebrow. "You looked in need of a physical. Don't thank me," he replied. Peeta scoffed and shook his head. Cato grinned. "Sorry, I'm just really hyped for the Games!"

"When is the reaping?" Peeta asked, wondering what time it was right at that moment.

"Two hours," Cato answered. He looked like a kid who was about to receive a puppy for his birthday. It was kind of cute. But horrific at the same time. Peeta resisted the urge to let his face dissolve into an expression of disgust that he felt when he thought of anyone being excited to murder people. "I can't wait to get it over with so I can come back to you and work on our relationship properly."

Peeta raised his eyebrows. "_That's_ what you're excited for?"

"Counting down the seconds," Cato replied.

"What about, you know, the glory of the Games? The career honour or whatever you guys call it?" Cato laughed at the boy's uncertainity of what the careers thought of the Games. Although, _Career honour_ sounded like a cool catchphrase for a clubhouse of some sort. He should discuss it with Kayla . . .

"Peeta, the Games is something we deal with. Something to get on with every year if you're chosen. It's not a lifestyle choice, it's what we were forced to be raised on. We don't think it's honourful. In fact, it sucks to know you're branded as the murdering, bloodthirsty District just because we're careers and some of our people train to be peacekeepers. That's their choice, a path they've chosen for a job and such. What my dream is is to get past the Games and all the victory shit just so that I can get back to you and start a _proper_ life."

Peeta was surprised. "Really?" he whispered.

"Really." Cato looked at the door wistfully. "And-don't tell her this-I'm not letting Kayla get reaped."

"Why?" asked Peeta, taken aback. "I thought she wanted to be in the Games?"

"Oh, she does," Cato said, his blue eyes once more locking on Peeta's. "But I'm not letting her. She couldn't handle it. Her DID was caused because her personality split when put under immense pressure that had her petrified. Jamie, Beth and Jack are all in her mind to keep her safe. They switch with her when they think she's in trouble or might be on the verge of a breakdown. Now, Jamie, nor Beth, nor Jack have had any training at all. What if they switched with her during the Games when confronted by a tribute with a knife?" He paused, his face grave. "She wouldn't know how to defend herself."

"How are you going to stop her?"

Cato shook his head. "I don't know yet."

He smiled again to brighten the mood and Peeta was amazed by his desperation to keep his little sister safe. Another streak of humanity that proved that careers were ordinary people with natural tendancies to protect their siblings from danger. Peeta hadn't been close to his brothers and didn't know how he'd react if they had of gotten reaped for the Hunger Games. How would they have reacted if he had of been reaped? Would they care? Do they even care now that he's gone?

Of course, Wheat and Rye both looked shaken up when Peeta returned after being kidnapped. They didn't cry or say any words of comfort, they just looked shaken. Peeta figured it was because they found it difficult to believe that their mother was capable of something so sinister. He guessed that they hated him for getting the woman who gave birth to them arrested and taken to the Capitol.

Unable to bear thinking about his brothers, Peeta snapped his fingers.

Now _this_ was something that had caught Cato's eye in the past. The boy from 12 had completed this action quite a few times over the previous few days. He'd wondered what it was and what it meant. "Why do you do that?" he asked.

Peeta blinked and sat up. He rested his back against the headboard and shrugged. "Just something my therapist told me to do when I remember something scarring from the past. I snap my fingers and it sort of snaps out of my head like a rock being flung away by an elastic band."

Cato nodded slowly in understanding. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," answered Peeta. "I'm fine."

"Want to talk about it?"

Peeta shook his head and fiddled with the cotton fabric of the duvet that was pooled on his lap. It was gone anyway, hurled out of his mind by the terse clicking of his fingers. It always happened so rapidly that most of the time he couldn't even remember what had happened in the previous few minutes leading up to the memory. Thankfully in this case, he vaguely recollected what Cato and himself had been talking about. He hoped Cato wouldn't think that he was hiding things from him because he didn't want to hide anything. His face screwed up into a frown as he mulled this over, his eyes sliding along the thin pattern woven into the quilt cover.

A gentle hand cupped his cheek and tilted his face up. Cato's face was soft with sympathy, his colbalt eyes shining in the morning light that was currently streaming in through the window. Peeta realized, with a jolt, that the window was open, something he hadn't thought of doing since he emigrated to the career's bedroom. His hair fell into his eyes-thin, golden strands obscering his vision-and Cato smiled, brushing it back out of the way.

"Should I cut my hair?" asked Peeta.

"No," Cato answered immediately. "Not even while I'm gone. Do not cut it."

Peeta nodded. His breathing grew heavy as Cato leaned forward. "Okay," he whispered, his breath brushing and mingling with the career's. "Are you sure?"

"Definitely sure." Then Cato's lips were on his. Each time they kissed it felt like the first time. Peeta flushed, his mind hollowing out completely and clouding over with stifling heat despite the cool breeze coming through the open window. Canaries circuited in his gut, his pulse jerking into an accelerated frenzy. He leaned into the older blond's strong body, surprising himself by opening his mouth when Cato ran his tongue along his bottom lip. His arms wound around the career's neck and he felt him smile against his mouth. Peeta's skin burned where Cato's hands rested on the small of his back and made him feel like he was completely on fire.

Cato was spurred on by the boy's responsiveness, his lips sliding down from his mouth and pecking his neck lovingly. A shiver jumped down Peeta's spine and his head lolled back in pleasure. His arms tightened around Cato's neck and he softly moaned, the feeling of the career's lips on his neck causing the most wondeful of sensations to leap down his spine.

That's when it went wrong.

His eyes had slid shut for barely a millisecond and yet in that teeny tiny space of time his mind jerked backwards into a more solid darkness than that of what would be provided from pupils staring behind closed eyelids. Memories flashed in the darkness like an onslot of terror. Recollections of Mya shoving her tongue down his throat and sinking her teeth into his skin. His fingers snapped constantly like a repetitive mantra. Every time one got flung out, another was shoved in.

He didn't even realize when Cato stopped kissing him and started holding him close to his body, rubbing his back and rocking back and forth. Peeta's head cleared slowly, his fingers snapping until they cramped up and he couldn't move them anymore. "I am so sorry," he whispered, horrified that that had happened when he had actually been enjoying himself.

"Don't be," Cato replied softly. "It's okay. When I get back from the Games we'll have plently of time to ease you into this sort of thing. We'll have all the time in the world."

"All the time in the world," he echoed.

~xXx~

Peeta was alarmed to find that the atmosphere in District 2 matched that of District 12's when it finally came to the reaping. He stood admist the hundreds of people, leaning heavily on his cane and practically drowning in the somber air that surrounded him. Kayla was beside him trying to jump high enough to see past the sixteen year olds in front of her. Unlike in 12, the crowd wasn't organized. They just sort of mushed together and those who didn't fit stood on roads and pavements and watched on the giant screen that was set up by the Justice Building.

District 2's escort was a plain looking woman with mouse hair and a meek face. Quite startling in stark contrast to Effie Trinket; the eccentric woman who'd laugh and cheer so loudly about the Games you thought your ears were going to drop off. Both women had one thing in common though: they were both products of the Capitol. Effie an obvious operative miracle, covered in improvement surgeries and makeup, and District 2's escort having pink eyes that glowed like the stars at night.

Like Effie, the escort-Kayla whispering to Peeta that her name was Mira Mortem-began with the ladies. The woman smiled shyly as she stepped up to the reaping bowl and plucked a name out. "Clove Jettison," she said into the microphone in a breathy voice.

"Well, that was handy," Kayla said as Clove strode to the stage with purpose, her smile both intimidating and picture perfect. "She didn't even need to volunteer."

Mira congratulated Clove before approaching the boy's bowl with a renewed virgor, stuffing her hand deep inside and ruffling the names up for a bit before deciding on once. When she pulled it out, Peeta held his breath-like he used to back home, whether out of fear or habit he didn't know-and waited for it to be handy again. For Cato's name to be called out, making his partner vanish from his clutches for what would very probably be very close to a month.

But it wasn't Cato's name.

Not that the boy who's name did get called out even had a chance to exhale before Cato had leaped up onto the stage, volunteering for the Games. Mira smiled, obviously knowing that this was the boy who won the raffle, and Peeta's heart constricted in pain. He didn't know why but suddenly seeing Cato up on stage like that made his throat tighten as he felt tears welling up. How many people had he seen up on stage like that who never returned home? He couldn't even count it.

"Where's your partner?"

Both Peeta and Kayla's heads snapped up at the question as Mira's voice bounced off the buildings surrounding the town square. Cato was as equally confused as everyone else. "What?" he asked.

"Recently you claimed someone, yes?" Mira asked. Cato nodded somewhat hesitantly. "Well, they are legally part of you. If you go to the Capitol, so do they."

Kayla snatched Peeta's hand as her mouth dropped open in horror. Peeta hadn't fully disgested it yet, like he was waiting for Mira to laugh, or declare it some sort of joke. But she didn't. She just blinked occasionally at Cato as she waited for him to answer.

"Since when was that a rule?" Cato demanded to know.

Mira raised her eyebrows. "It's always been a rule dear," she said. "It's just that no one has been reaped who's claimed a partner before."

"Surely there has been!"

The escort shook her head. "Nope. Sorry lovie. Now, where is he?" she asked.

Cato glanced at Peeta out of the corner of his eye, his jaw clenching in anger. "He's not here," he said.

Peeta's heart was beating so fast he could swear that if the whole District went silent, they would be able to hear his internal panic. He was going to go to the Capitol. The _Capitol._ Did that mean he had to participate in the Games as well? It still wasn't sinking in well with him. Even Clove was horrifed. Her eyes were locked firmly on him, her face sympathiec yet full of rage. The baker would have noticed her intense gaze if he wasn't too busy dealing with his own subjective panic. On the outside he looked as cool as a cucumber but inside his body was fighting a war of hysteria.

A peacekeeper approached Mira and whispered something in her ear. Her fuchsia eyes slid past Cato as she spun slowly on her heel to face the crowd again. The exact moment her rosey orbs rested on him, Kayla freaked out. She lashed out and grabbed Peeta's cane from him, spinning it around expertly and gracefully, forcing people to back off and to create a circle of space around them. "No one come near us!" she screamed.

Once Peeta got past the inital wave of being stunned, he immediately began worrying about Kayla. Preventing the course of the Games is a serious offense and could be punishable by a life of avoxaree or death. Not wanting that fate for Cato's little sister, he snatched the cane back. Kayla-not expecting Peeta to be the one to make a grab for the weapon-let go immediately. "What are you doing?!" she demanded.

"Kayla, it's going to be alright," he promised, hugging her. "I swear."

"No, you're not going. You're not made for it, you can't," Kayla insisted, her arms tightening around him as if it was going to keep him rooted to the spot. Prying her off him as gently as he could, Peeta swiped the hair out of her eyes with a wry smile.

"It's all going to be fine, I promise." He turned on his heel and said as loudly and as confidently as he dared, "Clear a path!" The crowd parted and he hobbled up to the steps of the Justice Building stage haltingly. Cato looked horrified, his face white as a sheet and his eyes glistening with what Peeta prayed wasn't tears. He didn't know if he'd be able to handle it if he made Cato cry.

Once on the stage, Cato grabbed his arm and pulled him to him, wrapping his arms around the baker's body and holding him so tightly Peeta could distinctly hear his bones crushing. Mira smiled, glad things were back in order and began to explain. "Since you're partners of a different district you go to the Capitol together." She turned to the crowd. "Isn't that lovely? A twist!" Okay, now she was definitely starting to sound like Effie Trinket.

Once the final speech was made, peacekeepers appeared to escort them to their farewell rooms in the Justice Building. When they took Peeta's elbow something-the roughness of the hold? The leather glove scratching against his skin?-threw his mind back into a memory he'd very likely dreamt of in the past.

_"Grab his arm," Mya hissed. Her partner grabbed his elbow and jabbed something sharp and painful into his arm. He cried out as the point pierced his skin, injecting what felt like a bubble into his veins. When it popped, his muscles clenched in pain and cramped up. _

_"Will one dose be enough?"_

_Mya sighed. "It'll have to be," she said. "The cilent's waiting." _

_Many thoughts ran though his head, who was this cilent? What did they want? When he tried to ask these questions, the gag on his mouth rubbed the corners of his mouth which were already raw from screaming against the fabric for so long. _

_Mya crouched before him and stroked his cheek. "You're going to be good now, aren't you? This lady is very important for your future and you need to behave, alright?" He hoped his glare translated what he wanted to say to her: 'Go to hell.' Scrunching her nose up in distaste, his aunt slapped him. "Alright?" she repeated. The slap burned his cheek and he whimpered behind the gag. Scared, the bruised boy nodded his head. Mya smiled. "Good." She turned to her partner. "Take him up stairs."_

_They grabbed either one of his elbows, both of them hauling him up together, knowing he was too weak to do it on his own. Mya slid a piece of cloth over his eyes, plunging him into solid darkness. He was terrified, and tried to thrash but was weighted down by utter exhaustion._

As if suddenly remembering everything he'd ever taught himself and suddenly pertrified as if he'd been thrown back in time to that exact moment, Peeta lashed out against the peacekeeper. For months after the kidnapping, the baker trained to defend himself if should an event such occur again. How to use his weakness as a weapon and how to never let anyone get away with him ever again.

Wrenching his arm free, he dropped to the ground and swiped his good leg under the peacekeeper's feet, tripping them up and forcing them to fall over to the floor. Once they'd staggered to their feet, they tried to grab him again. Blinded again by the darkness of Mya's basement, Peeta threw his cane up, caught the end of it so he held it in both hands and forced it under the keeper's neck. He then forced the guard against the wall in a panic and pressed the stick harder against their neck.

"Don't touch me," he threatened breathlessly.

Once Cato had come over the shock of watching Peeta react the way he did, the career couldn't help but admire him. The way he'd dropped so swiftly and moved so quickly and gracefully that he barely stumbled . . . that would have taken a year or so for the trainers to teach their proteges at the Career Institute. He recognized why the boy had freaked out immediately. Because, as soon as the peacekeeper had took Peeta's arm . . .

He snapped his fingers.

Cato placed a gentle hand on the trembling boy's shoulder and whispered, "It's okay Peeta, they won't touch you." He glared at the peacekeeper. "I'll make sure of it." He carefully prised the cane out of Peeta's hands and wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders. Somehow strangely comforted by Cato's touch, Peeta relented and melted into the embrace the career pulled him gently into. He was breathing heavy, the image of Mya's dark basement, her claw like hands digging into his arms, the gag and blindfold on his face slowly fading away.

The realization of what he'd just done dawned on him.

Clove suddenly appeared beside the three of them. Popping a knife out of her boot-the blade glinting meancingly in the sunlight-she pointed the tip at a chink in the peacekeeper's armour. The man was panting, his expression unreadable behind his blotted out helmet. "I don't know what the fuck that was, and I'm no expert, but someone who can get such a reaction out of a District 12 boy must have done something horribly wrong." She pushed the knife into the chink so that it pressed against the man's shirt. He tensed up. "Don't. Touch. Him. Again."

Peeta wondered why Clove would care about whatever his motives for nearly bashing a peacekeeper's head in was. Maybe she was just looking for an excuse to parade her kinves around in front of the camera so that the other tributes would know what her intentions were from the start. In front of the camera . . . the camera . . . the _cameras_ broadcasting live right now to the . . . oh god.

He just assualted a peacekeeper on live television.

Mira seemed pleased with the drama. Peeta decided that she was definitely like Effie Trinket in personality and desire for farce in her District every year. He had a sudden urge to turn to the peacekeeper and apologize. Cato had a hold of the cane now and was holding it like he'd hold his sword. His arm was still around Peeta and judging by the strength he was using to hold the boy close, he wasn't letting go any time soon.

"Okay, enough of the theatrics," a different peacekeeper said. His helmet was off and his brown hair was damp with sweat. Peeta found it strange that he didn't try to save his co-worker when he got attacked. "Just get in the Justice Building, alright?" He glanced at Peeta. "And no one touch the melodramatic blond."

Cato gritted his teeth and handed Peeta his cane back. As they entered the building-Clove leading the way-he kissed the younger blond's temple. "You okay?" he murmered.

Peeta nodded mutely. "He just touched me and I . . ." His throat tightened and he choked on the words. "I just . . . couldn't . . . I . . ."

"Sssh," Cato soothed, "it's okay, you don't need to explain yourself." As they were guided into their farewell room-both of them allowed to share the one room-Cato and Peeta sat down on the couch that was pushed up against the wall. The career held him close to his body, softly stroking the boy's hair.

Kayla burst into the room, Mr and Mrs Hadley in close follow. "Peeta!" she cried. "I can't believe they're doing this!" She jumped into his lap and hugged him. "They can't bring you into the Capitol, what's the point? They can't bring you in for the Games, you don't know what to do! It's not fair!"

"I don't think they want him for the Games," Mr. Hadley said quietly. "I think they want you for something else."

Cato tensed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Notice how Mira didn't say, 'Go with you into the Hunger Games,' she said, 'Go with you to the Capitol.' President Snow doesn't want you for the Games, he wants you for something deeper."

Peeta was on the verge of a panic attack, his breath short and hysteric. "What else could he possibly want from me?! I am nothing!" Mr and Mrs Hadley looked sympathiec, their eyes already grieving. It was answer enough that they couldn't respond.

Whatever it was Snow was planning, it couldn't be good.

~xXx~

Peeta was ashamed that when he got on the train that was going to take Cato and himself to the Capitol, he wasn't shocked by the luxury of the furnishings inside. He'd grown accustomed to it because of living in District 2 and after only a few days he was already able to be unfazed by stainless steel walls, velvet cushions and silk bedsheets. He thought of everyone back home fighting every day for food and comfort and here he was, already adjusted to a life of affluence.

He steered well clear of what was to be Cato and Clove's mentors. Brutus and Enobaria. He couldn't remember how or when Brutus had won the Games-maybe some time while he was a kid or before he was born?-but Enobaria's victory was burned into his mind like some got a poker and branded it into his brain. The woman had ripped a tribute's throat out with her teeth therefore prompting the Capitol to decide to point out each tooth and engrave them in gold. Both mentors had a hostile air around them and made Peeta feel like an imposter on the train even though he was the person who'd been forced to go with them.

When Cato, Clove and their mentors gathered on the sofa with Mira to watch the reaping recaps. Peeta hovered by the door to the sitting area, ignoring Cato when he inisisted he come in. He leaned against the side of the doorframe barely outside and barely inside.

Watching Clove and Cato on the t.v was strange enough but then seeing _himself _there. He watched as the peacekeeper took his elbow on the stage. He'd never seen himself being taken back into a flashback memory before and he watched with curiousity as his pupils blew up into golf balls and he dropped to the floor. The commentators exclaimed in humoured horror as Peeta tripped the peacekeeper up and shoved him against the wall. They also noted how cute it was that Cato was so protective over the boy from 12 when the career's arm wound around his shoulders.

The rest of the Districts were a blurr to Peeta, a mish mash of random names and unfamaliar faces. That is, until they reached District 12.

Effie Trinket was her usual bubbly self, excited for the Games and the calling of the names. She started with the girls first-as per usual-and buried her hand into the reaping bowl. When she pulled the name out with a flourish, she paused before speaking. "Primrose Everdeen!"

Peeta's heart dropped into his stomach in pure horror as his best friend's little sister was called out by Effie Trinket. The little girl emerged from the crowd, her face pale and sickly. She tucked the back of her blouse into her skirt and suddenly a girl cried out.

"Prim!"

_No_. No way.

"Prim!" Katniss pushed through the crowd and pushed her sister behind her at the stairs of the stage. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

Effie Trinket grinned and twittered happily before declaring, "And now for the boys!" She plucked the first name out of the top of the pile and called out another famaliar name. A name Peeta had heard when Katniss appeared on his doorstep suffering from a serious hangover and not wanting to return home. A name in which whom Peeta had never spoken to the owner. "Gale Hawthorne!"

Cato, who had turned to look at Peeta as soon as Katniss had mounted the stage, bolted off the sofa and ran after the boy as he broke off into a run. Peeta's mind was whirling. His best friend and the man she lost her virginity to were going into the Hunger Games which also meant that if Cato won like he claimed he would that would mean the death of his best friend. Of the girl who he'd been friends with for as long as he remembered . . . of the girl who betrayed her. But if Katniss won then what of Cato?

"Peeta!" the career yelled. "Wait!"

No, no, no, no, no, running was all he could do to escape the truth. But they were on a train after all and that meant that eventually he'd have to start. Except, of course, his mind was blurred on too many things that were confusing him that he didn't notice the end wall coming and rammed face first into it. He bounced off and stumbled backwards. Cato was right behind him though and caught him as he tripped over his own ankles and nearly hit the floor.

"Peeta!" he exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!" Peeta cried once standing upright agian. "Katniss volunteered! She's my best friend and now she has to go into the Games with you! I don't want either of you to die! But one of you is going to have to die!"

Cato sighed heavily, not knowing how to answer. He took the boy's hands and tugged him close to his body, wrapping his arms around the baker and resting his chin on his head. "It's alright," he said quietly. "Everything will be fine."

Peeta didn't believe him. Not one bit.

_A/N: What does the rule state of claimed partners of reaped citizens? Well, we'll just going to have to wait and see won't we? :)_

_Preview: Chapter Nine:_

_"The Capitol are bored," the President stated. "Bored of the same old same old for the past twenty five years since the last Quarter Quell." Peeta frowned, lost in a haze of confusion. _

_"But next year is the next Quarter Quell. The 75th. Couldn't they wait until then?" he asked. Snow chuckled and shook his head._

_"I am not one for risks Mr. Mellark and keeping everything the same for an extra year may be an invitation for lowered televison ratings. I do not want lowered televison ratings."_

_"What has that got to do with me?" Peeta asked._

_The president smirked. "Let me explain."_

_Please R&R! :D_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Peeta was woken up by force. He'd asked Cato earlier that night if he could sleep on his own just for the train ride to the Capitol-it wouldn't even take that long to get from 2 to the Capitol anyway-and had hit the hay early. But instead of being woken up by his partner nudging him or kissing him like he normally would, a cold hand was slid over his mouth, jolting him awake. He barely had a chance to scream for Cato before he was roughly dragged out of bed and knocked on the head, making everything melt into darkness.

When he came to again, he was in an extravagant room that wasn't a room on the train. He was sitting upright in a wooden chair in front of a giant mahogany desk. The aburpt chance of scenery made Peeta dizzy and he rubbed his temples, fighting off the headache he felt coming on. Where was he? What happened? His eyes flicked up momentarily and he almost fell out of his seat when he saw President Snow sitting at the other side of the desk. Well, it was what Peeta knew to be the capitol's president from the television appearances and speeches between Hunger Games.

"Pr-Pre-President Snow?" he stuttered. "Ah, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Snow smiled. "Hello Mr. Mellark, I trust you slept well?"

_Well, yeah. Before I was woken up only to be knocked out and dragged here!_

Peeta nodded slowly. "Where am I?" he asked.

"Why, Mr. Mellark, you're in the Capitol. Your train arrived over an hour ago," the president explained. "Your partner has already been escorted to his stylists so his blemishes can be fixed before the Tribute Chariot Rides tonight. Of course, he kicked up a fight, wanting to know where his darling little Peeta was. I have no doubt he's been informed of your whereabouts which I don't think will help his chargin at all."

Peeta's hands tightened on the arms of his chair. His cane was nowhere to be seen which made his heart accelerate in worry. He wouldn't make it far without his cane, maybe be able to escape the room in question but it was very unlikely he'd make it out of the building. "Why am I here?" he asked.

President Snow's snakelike eyes bored into him and he shivered. A fake smile stretched across the man's face that didn't seem guenine. "Where? The Capitol, or this room?"

"Both."

Peeta watched carefully as President Snow stood up and approached a window that resided behind the desk. He peered out through the glass onto the candy coloured streets of the Capitol. The sun was just rising, sending streaks of scarlet light bursting through the sky, mixing and moulding with the yellows and oranges of daybreak. The colours reflecting off the mirrored buildings made the whole city look like it had been set on fire.

"I'd guess that you're curious about the rule that stated you must come with Mr. Hadley to the Capitol, am I correct?" Snow asked.

"Well, yes. A little bit," replied Peeta. It took a great deal of effort to hold back the tremour he felt creeping up into his voice. He didn't know a lot about the President of the Capitol, of the ruler of Panem. Not many people did, only those of who worked closely to him or those with the right connections. "I didn't even know such a rule existed."

"It doesn't."

Peeta's eyes widened in alarm. "Pardon?" He was wondering if he'd heard him right.

Snow didn't turn around from the window. He just kept staring out at his kingdom. Like a puppetmaster looking down at all his toys, trying to decide which one he'd manipulate next. "The Capitol are bored," the President stated. "Bored of the same old same old for the past twenty five years since the last Quarter Quell." Peeta frowned, lost in a haze of confusion.

"But next year is the next Quarter Quell. The 75th. Couldn't they wait until then?" he asked. Snow chuckled and shook his head.

"I am not one for risks Mr. Mellark and keeping everything the same for an extra year may be an invitation for lowered televison ratings. I do not want lowered televison ratings."

"What has that got to do with me?" Peeta asked.

The president smirked. "Let me explain: We have many victors; people whose lives we follow after they win the Games. They are treated like celebrities, articles are made in magazines over the smallest things that happen in their lives, they go on t.v for interviews with Mr. Flickerman. Think of a victor you know and it's very likely that they've spent at least a year of their life in the Capitol being treated like royalty.

"However, eventually the same thing every single day becomes dull and bland. The citizens are looking for something new. Something different. Someone new whose life they can follow and cling to. Someone who isn't a victor but still has a connection to the Hunger Games. That is where you come in, Mr. Mellark."

"I'm not sure I'm following," Peeta frowned.

"What else could possibly be more interesting than a citizen of one of the poorest Districts being claimed by a strong career from District 2? A story could be built around that. A story of love and hardship, only to be topped off by one of them being taken into the Hunger Games. The Capitol are intrigued with your relationship with Mr. Hadley. They want to know more."

"What do you mean . . . more?" If he wasn't hanging on so tightly to the chair beneath him, Peeta was almost sure that he'd be shaking. Cato's father had been right. Snow didn't want him for the Hunger Games. But if he didn't want him for the Hunger Games, what else is there to have out of him?

"While your partner is in the Games, Mr. Mellark, you shall become our newest celebrity. The poor, grieveing citizen of 12 who is forced to sit and watch the love of his life fight to the death in an arena where his best friend is also wanting to survive. It would make our ratings shoot through the roof. It would make the Games' publicity go haywire. Renewing the interest for the Quarter Quell next year. The Capitol love a good gay couple."

"Wh-what?" Peeta stuttered, pathiecally stumbling over his words. "I'm not even gay." This had become a waning lie that the baker had spend long hours mulling over. He had been a straight man his entire life until Cato claimed him. Of course, he'd never kissed a girl in his life so nothing really pin-pointed his sexuality or set it in stone. But . . . he'd just assumed he was straight . . . right up until the moment Cato kissed him. Then his mind just went haywire with so many confusing thoughts.

President Snow's smile had taken on a sinister ring to it, the only way Peeta could see it was through the reflection in the mirror. "No need to pretend around me, Mr. Mellark, I know everything. And you _will _do as I ask."

Feeling rebellious, Peeta responsed with, "And why do you think that?"

"Because," Snow said slowly, "if you don't, I'll make sure your partner doesn't make it out of the Games. Become our celebrity, or Mr. Hadley doesn't make it out alive. Which will you chose Mr. Mellark? If my intution is correct, I think I already know what your answer is."

Cato, dead? Snow couldn't possibly do that, could he? The course of the Games could only be altered by the Gamemakers, right? They were the only ones who could do things to the tributes or make things happen in the arena, not President Snow. President Snow just oversaw everything, didn't he? That's what Peeta had been raised to believe anyway. Then again, if the President of the Capitol could make a whole new rule and manage to get it through to District 2's escort in time, was there anything he really couldn't do?

The thought of Cato being killed in the most painful and gruesome way made Peeta feel sick, his stomach churning in a mixture of a nasuea and hysteria. This onslot of sudden illness was what made him nod. "What would I have to do?" he asked.

"Be an image for the course of the Games, maybe thereafter if all goes well. Make television appearances, magazine interviews, gush about how oh so hard it is to watch the man you love fight to the death along with your best friend. The naivety of my citizens make my work so much easier to keep them in the dark. In other words they'd eat your words up and fall in love with the grieveing boy from 12."

"Why me, of all people?"

"I know of your story, of what happened in your past," President Snow said. The sentence made Peeta's blood run cold. "Of Miss Mya and her attempt to sell you off to Mr. Woods in the Capitol."

"Mr . . . Woods?"

"I can also exchange your compliance with information. If that's what you'd like," Snow offered. "I was the person who passed the right to cut out the tongue of the dear woman and turn her into an avox. I remember the case very well. I'd assume your past is the reason you were able to assualt one of my peacekeepers at the reaping, am I correct? Might I add, it would not be very clever to lie to me."

Noting that the final sentence was very probably extremely valid, Peeta nodded. The President turned around from the window and sat back down at his desk. "Your past is tragic to say the least but very, very intrigueing."

"I'm not letting the Capitol know about that!" Peeta exclaimed in horror.

"Oh, so I see, so you don't care as much about your partner than I orginally thought." President Snow knew fully well that Peeta was confused with his feelings about Cato and was using that disoreintation against the boy from 12 to get what he wanted to keep the t.v ratings up. Peeta had the perfect image and personality to become a Capitol celeb if he put his mind to it. He was handsome, shy and had an interesting backstory in which would captivate the attention of the citizens of the capitol. There were so many ways Snow knew he could exploit the boy.

"I do care about Cato," Peeta said through gritted teeth.

"Surely you don't if you care more about your past going public than you do about the death of the man who claimed you," Snow said tauntingly.

Peeta's hands were clenching so hard that his knuckles were as white as marble. "What would I have to do?" he asked.

Snow smirked. "That's more like it," he said. "First of all: you must devulge none of this to young Cato, is that clear?" Peeta nodded slowly. "Good. Now here's how this is shall work: You will have an interview at the end of the tribute interviews were Caeser will ask you about how you're dealing with the knowledge that the man you love has to fight to death with your best friend. This will get the citizens thinking and soon they'll be wanting to see more of _you_, wanting to know more about_ you._"

"Why though? Why would they _want_ to see and know more?" asked Peeta.

"My citizens need an image, Mr. Mellark," President Snow explained. "Someone they can rely on to follow and copy and love as if they were part of their own families. Their mechanic minds are obligated to have someone to follow. The Capitol's main celebrity image used to be Finnick Odair but as his current booming vocation has had him busy citizens have been holding out for someone new."

If Peeta was going to be forced into something like what Finnick Odair got up to then he was definitely worried. The District 4 victor screamed sexual prowless just when he looked at you a certain way and always had a new woman on his arm every week. Peeta couldn't imagine himself being like that. He couldn't even bear looking people in the eye, let alone trying to be sexual while doing it.

But thinking about Cato being . . . _killed_ . . . that trumped everything else. It made Peeta's heart clench to think about and he shook his head to clear it. "Okay, fine, I'll do it. Just . . . leave Cato alone, okay?"

President Snow nodded slowly. "I'm glad we've come to an agreement."

~xXx~

Later that day, peacekeepers escorted Peeta to where Cato was located, which was the underground area where the tributes were held before the chariot rides. It wasn't hard to find Cato as since he was from District 2, himself and Clove were hanging around their chariot which was second in the line of 12. As soon as Peeta got close enough for the career to see him, Cato reached him in two long strides. The boy from 12 didn't even have a chance to react before he was yanked into a hug and plastered with kisses.

"Are you okay? What did Snow want?" Cato asked, not releasing Peeta from his hold against him.

"I'm fine," Peeta mumbled, his cheek smushed against Cato's chest. "And Snow didn't want anything . . . anything important anyway." He knew the career didn't believe him for a second but he didn't have a time to say so as the five minute call was made for the tributes to get ready. Cato reluctantly let the boy go. His stylist had himself and Clove dressed up like gladiators in gold armour. They certainly knew what they were doing . . . making the costume sleeveless to showcase Cato's strong, musclar, arms . . . Peeta shook his head and mentally slapped himself.

A flickering emerged from the corner of his eye and Peeta turned to find Katniss standing near the back, her grey eyes locked firmly on him. She was dressed all in black, a long cape tied around her neck flowed down into tethered flames at the back, growing and burning, flickering and snapping. For a moment, Peeta had thought it was _real_ fire before realizing it was artifical. His best friend never removed her eyes from him, the smokey orbs full of pity and remorse. He stared right back at her defiantly, his hands clenching into fists by his sides.

The staring spell was broken by Gale appearing beside Katniss, kitted out similarly to her, and dragging her attention away. Peeta was slightly thankful, but he suddenly felt very angry for some reason. Very likely because of the betrayal he still felt when he thought of Katniss, because he'd always thought of her as his best friend but was unsure of what to think of her as now.

"Peeta?" He turned and was met by Cato leaning agaisnt his chariot apprehensively. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah," Peeta stuttered, switching his cane to his other hand and wiping his now free one against his jeans to rid it of the sweat. "I'm fine." Cato didn't look like he believed him but before he could pursue it, Clove emerged from the other side of the chariot.

"Okay boys, let's get this show on the road!" she said, climbing into the giant gold carriage. "Watt says you have to hide in our chariot to get you across, Peeta. Just, like, crouching by our feet or something."

Cato moved away from the chariot and turned to look up at his District partner. "Why? The Capitol know he's here, if the reaping recaps are anything to go by anyway."

Clove shrugged, her gladiator helmet sliding off kilter slightly. "Something about not wanting the crowd thinking he's going into the Games or something. Anyway, doesn't matter now. It's about to begin, get in." Cato jumped into the chariot, throwing Clove off balance. She yelped and grabbed his arm quickly. "Watch your step Hadley!" she snapped, even though the smile on her face dampened her anger.

Cato grinned at her before turning on his heel and holding his hand out to Peeta. "Need help?" he asked. Peeta stared up at him, wide-eyed and dazzled. The lights of the holding area shone off the career's helmet, making it sparkle with artifical light. He blinked a couple of times to prevent himself from getting blinded, when Snow's voice suddenly rang out in his head.

_The Capitol love a good gay couple._

Peeta snapped his fingers and took a hesitant step towards the chariot. Cato leaned over and took his cane from him, slipping it under the front of the carriage. Peeta slipped his hand into Cato's and gasped as the career hauled him in with shocking strength. With the three of them standing in the chariot, there was barely any room for them to breathe. Cato kept a hold of Peeta, keeping his hands locked tightly around the younger boy's arms. "Okay, now what?" he asked.

Clove, who had been hanging onto the edge of the contraption, squeezed further in and gestured to the small space underneath the front. "I suppose you could fit in there, what do you think?"

Peeta studied the small nook skeptically. "Hmm, maybe," he reluctantly said. Small spaces weren't his strong suit, especially ones were he'd be crushed into a ball from the top. Clove hopped out of the chariot to give him some room to climb under. Peeta stared at the tiny area, calculating the length of time it would take to get to the other end of the runway, for Snow to say his speech about the Games, and for them to get into the training center. In a nutshell, the length of time he would be trapped in the chariot.

"Hey," Cato touched his shoulder and turned him around. "You okay?"

"A b-bit claustrophobic," Peeta replied. He wasn't meaning to get so freaked out over it but now that he was standing there in front of it he couldn't help but feel anything but the wash of dread in his bones.

Cato's hands were still on his arms but now that there was more room, he loosened his grip and let his hands slip down to slide into Peeta's. "I'm going to be right here the entire time, okay? I don't care about Snow's stupid laws, if you need to get out, get out, okay? You can stand up beside me, alright?"

Peeta nodded, still unsure if he'd have the courage to stand up beside Cato on the chariot. The career nodded as well and gave him a hug. The brief moment when his body was pressed against Cato's suddenly sent a wave of comfort crashing over him. His heart slowed it's rapid beating and his muscles relaxed. Cato kissed the top of his head, "You ready?" he murmered.

"Yeah," replied Peeta.

It wasn't so bad, in the small space under the front of the chariot. It was snug, obviously, but other than that he was okay. His cane pressed into his back in a slightly uncomfortable fashion, that was the only problem he had. He could see Cato and Clove's feet as he sat there. The chariot jerked forward into a start and he jerked forward with it, his forehead nearly clapping the floor. He slammed his palms onto the floor to save his head and held back a yelp of surprise.

Peeta could hear the Capitol crowds cheering all around him as the chariot continued up the runway. He was disgusted in their joy in the Games, of their jeering for the tributes they're going to watch fight to the death. How could they make favourites in living people with the knowledge that any moment they could be murdered? They bet money on them and curse when they lose like betting on a horse. It was digusting.

The chariot suddenly stopped when Peeta wasn't expecting it, the force making him fly backwards and hit his head off the back of his little nook. A stab of pain shot through his head and he bit back on a swear, throwing his hand into his mouth and biting down. He could vaguely hear President Snow making his usual speech to the tributes but was concentrating more on the hard ache that was settling over in his skull.

As the carriage once again started moving, probably on it's way to the training area, Peeta was jostled sideways into another wall in his nook as it took a sharp turn, only for it to turn back and make him fall headlong into the other side. He found himself thanking god when the chariot stopped, already mentally counting the amount of bruises he'd have obtained alone from the ride.

He didn't have a chance to relax anyway because as soon as the wheels ground to a halt, Cato had pulled him out and was checking him over. "Are you okay?" he asked, his hands sweeping over Peeta's chest and arms, keeping for injuries. "You got thrown about pretty hard down there."

"I'm fine," Peeta replied, rubbing the back of his head which was still hurting. "My head is kind of sore though."

"Did you hit it?" Cato asked.

"Yeah."

"Here, sit down." Cato made him sit down on the floor of the chariot, so his legs hung over the edge. Kneeling down behind him, the career gently parted his hair out of the way and examined his head. "There's a small cut at the back here." He pressed his finger exactly where it was hurting, making Peeta wince. "Is that where it's sore?"

"Uh-uh," Peeta replied.

Clove emerged from the other side of the chariot and laughed. "So you managed to hurt yourself?" she chuckled. "Clever. Let me see." She pushed up on her tiptoes and swept some hair out of the way. "Ack, it's not that bad. Just a small cut." She moved back and dusted her hands. "Nice hair by the way, you should tell Cato what you wash it with. He could do with some pedigree golden hair."

"Oh do shut up Clove," Cato replied, his fingers still gently looking around in his hair for any more cuts. There were none left but he couldn't bring himself to stop playing with the boy's silken locks just yet.

"Look Cato, I don't want to get trapped in a conversation with Glimmer and her boy toy Marvel. I mean, did you _see_ what they're wearing?! We've got to go, _now_," Clove ordered. "Brutus says we can go on up to our floor. It's floor number two. Very creative, huh? Now come on, avanti!" She started walking off to the elevator with a spring to her step.

Cato sighed heavily and retrieved Peeta's cane from where it was strewn on the floor. He handed it to Peeta and helped him down from the high carriage. The elevator moved at break-neck speed, making them stumble as it jerked to a sudden stop at their floor. The one thing Peeta wasn't looking forward to was meeting the avoxes. Just thinking about the voices those people used to have and the lives they used to live.

As they stepped out onto their floor, Peeta didn't have a chance to take in the extravagance of the floor as his eyes locked immediately on the woman standing across the room. She was leaning casually, a bit too casually for an avox, against the wall. Her hair fell in a waterwall of waves down her face and she had an eyebrow quirked in amusement. Peeta's blood turned to ice shards in his viens and his hearts squeezed tight in fear. He backed up into Cato, who caught him quickly before he stumbled and fell.

Auntie Mya was their Avox.

_A/N: Did you see that coming? :D_

_Preview: Chapter Ten:_

_Peeta watched her hand as it flew across the whiteboard bolted to the wall. He couldn't breathe, his lungs constricting as he grappled for breath. Her non writing hand was holding onto his neck too tightly he started thinking this was his end. _

_'You haven't changed,' her curly writing hand writing stated. 'That's annoying. I was hoping you'd be ugly or something, maybe scarred for your life. So what? I lose my tongue and you're still good looking? Bagged a career and all? That's not luck, that's just rude.'_

_He couldn't respond, his throat was too dry and scratchy from her strangling him. _

_'Be warned Mellark, I still know Mr. Woods. Mr. Woods still remembers you and still wouldn't mind having you. You watch your step or I might just have to kidnap you in your sleep and get my money from your still awaiting cilent. If you do as I say though, I might just leave you be.'_

_Please R&R! :D_


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Sorry for the wait guys! Here's chapter ten! :D_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games!_

Chapter Ten

The last time Peeta had seen Auntie Mya, she had been on the television, on the news, dressed in orange with her hands cuffed together. His mother had been a part of the same news story as well. She had no remorse towards what she had done, she even told the reporters so. When Mya was asked if she regretted her occupation, the woman replied with a bone chilling response:

_"I don't regret anything. Every body I sold, every life I spent, it all was worth the money I was given. And I would do it again if given the oppurtunity."_

These were her last words.

"Cato! Cato, stop it!" Enobaria was yelling this over and over again while Brutus held the career back. Mya stayed where she was at the back of the room, her face a mask of complete amusement. Clove had Peeta held back at the oppisote side of Mya, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes and making sure he didn't pass out. Peeta was almost completely sure that Cato was going to kill Mya. Maybe rip her apart with his bare hands.

"Why is she here?!" Cato yelled at his mentors.

"She's an avox!" Enobaria snapped. "Every floor has one!"

"Why _her?!_"

Peeta was beginning to hyperventilate in a panic. Clove started shaking his shoulders, yelling at him to hold himself together. He couldn't though. He glanced past her and found Mya staring him right in the eye. Could you really blame him for starting to scream? Everything was coming back to him, everything that woman done to him. It was too much seeing her standing across from him, only a couple of strides away.

"Oh my god shut your boyfriend up Hadley!" Brutus roared.

Cato truned around and saw the state Peeta was in. Clove jumped out of the way as he made his way over to the boy and cupped his cheeks. As soon as his hands came in contact with his face, the baker stopped screaming and stared wide-eyed at the career. "Peeta?" he whispered. "Peeta, are you okay?"

"It's Mya, Cato, how can I be alright?" he croaked.

"She is not allowed near him!" Cato said, pointing threateningly at Mya. The woman was smiling, enjoying the drama. "If she goes anywhere near him I'm going to snap her neck, alright?!"

"She won't go anywhere near him, we'll make sure of it," Clove said. Herself, Enobaria, and Brutus had no idea why the avox terrified Peeta so much but decided it was best not to question it. As they parted ways, Clove grabbed Auntie Mya's arm and dragged her out of the room. Never once did the woman's eyes leave Peeta and never once did the smile leave her face.

Peeta himself was going through a couple crisis. He suddenly felt faint, his eyes rolling behind his head, and his body going completely limp so that he slid down the wall. Cato caught him before he hit the floor and hauled him back up. "Peeta, you're okay, she's not here any more."

"She's still on the floor though!" exclaimed Peeta, turning around and frantically jabbing at the elevator buttons. "She'll kill me, she will. She never got caught selling people until my father made a report! She's gonna kill me in my sleep!"

"Peeta," Cato said. The baker ignored him, continueing to stab the buttons on the wall in a panic. "_Peeta."_ With a cry of frustration, he whacked the elevator doors, wanting to know why they wouldn't open. "Peeta, listen to me!"

"Auntie Mya's come back for me!" Peeta yelled, turning around and shaking Cato by the shoulders. "She's come back to kill me!" Heart broken from seeing the boy so afraid, the career sighed and pulled him into a hug. "Oh god Cato, why is she here?"

"I don't know," Cato replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Peeta's head and softly stroking his hair. "She can't hurt you, she's just a server now. She can't even speak anymore, what harm can she really do? Plus, I'm going to be right here with you, okay? I won't leave your side when we're up here. If she gets too close I'll snap her in two, how does that sound?"

"Good," Peeta mumbled.

"Good. Now come on, we could all do with some rest."

The District 2 floor's room was an acceptionally large room with three blue painted walls, the entire fourth being taken up by a window. Peeta found his feet taking him there first, stopping only when his face was inches away from the glass. Past his own ghostly reflection, the floor overlooking the streets of the Capitol. By now it was dark, the sky pitch black and stars were glittering in the sky. The only things keeping the city alight was the flaring balls of lumionous light bursting from the streetlights and artifical bulbs inside the numerous buildings that lines the streets.

Citizens dressed up in their crazy, eccentric outfits strutted around chatting, laughing, singing and joking. They looked so at ease, so happy, Peeta wondered what it must be like to live like them. Without the fear of death or starvation. To have everything they need at the flick of a switch or the press of a button. How could they live their lives so easily with the knowledge that there were people out there in their own country dying every day from the lack of food and shelter when they had all . . . this?

"It's captivating and disgusting at the same time," he said quietly.

Cato sat down on the bed that was pushed up against the closest wall and sighed. "I know," he said. "Even just looking at it makes you question everything."

Peeta turned from the window and looked at Cato. He'd taken his gladiator headdress off, so his hair was scruffed up and slightly messy. Peeta felt an urge to smooth it down for him. Of course, he didn't. His non-existant courage wasn't strong enough for something like that. Noticing him looking, the career flashed him a bright smile. Peeta felt warm inside and blushed, ducking his head and scratching his neck.

"You have no idea how cute you are," Cato chuckled.

This did nothing to decrease the blush.

"Oh look, they've provided clothes," said Peeta, trying to difuse his pink tinted cheeks quickly before he turned into a tomato. He pulled open a drawer at the top of the giant chest that resided against by the door. "At least it's not some of the crazy stuff that they wear." He pawed through the various fabrics inside the drawer, looking for something to put on for bed. There was still a part of him that was hyper-aware of the fact that Mya was still on the floor but there was also a part of him that was trying to silence it. It had been a year, the woman couldn't touch him, there was no reason to be frightened.

Cato appeared by his side, also scrutinzing the clothing provided. "Is there anything here that isn't silk?" he asked.

"I hope so," Peeta replied. "I don't wear silk."

The career laughed. "Neither do I." He reached in and pulled something out. A white t-shirt made out of cotton. "Here, you wear that."

"What about you?" Peeta took the shirt hesitantly, the fabric balled up in his hands.

"There's bound to be something else in here," replied Cato, opening up another drawer and hoking through it. "You go on and get ready, I'll keep looking." Peeta nodded and went into the ensuite bathroom. He pushed the door closed, not noticing when it didn't shut properly. He started at his reflection, wondering what is was about himself that had attracted Cato's attention. What it was that made the career want to chose _him_ as his partner. This also led him on to wonder what made President Snow think that people would be interested in him as well. There was nothing he could see but a pale, boring baker's boy.

Cato glanced over his shoulder momentarily to check if Peeta was alright. He'd left the door to the bathroom lying half open, a shaft of light pouring out from inside. Peeta stood by the sink, looking at himself curiously in the mirror. His head was tilted to one side, his sapphire eyes wide, the angle at which his head was in causing his hair to brush his shoulders. Cato tried to decipher the look the boy was giving himself in the mirror but couldn't quite do so.

He wondered what President Snow had wanted with him. What could the president possibly need from the boy? There was nothing Peeta could give him, right? And then there was this Mya woman to contend with. It was too much of a concidence for the woman who tried to sell Peeta off just last year being their avox. Cato was open to concidences, small ones. Not one of _this _porportion. Something else was at work here.

Peeta unbuttoned his shirt to change into the white sleep shirt and Cato tried to force his eyes away somewhere else. He wasn't a pervert, he had no reason to be, but there was something about the baker from 12 that brought out the worst in him. Not the worst in the angry, violent sense-his alter-egoed mood drop that would occur every so often because of his bi-polar. No, this was his more needy and sexual side that craved to have the boy in the bathroom in a deeper, more intense way.

Unable to resist, he stole glances out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to still be searching for a sleep shirt. Peeta wasn't heavily muscled like most of the boys he'd dated in District 2, but was lean and stocky which had always been the type of body structure that made Cato salivate with want. Because it was the type of body he could easily overpower and force into submission. Of course, this was something he had to be careful with. He wanted Peeta to trust him, not believe he was some physcho who just wanted to crush him in bed.

When the baker emerged from the bathroom, he had also taken off his jeans so he was standing uncertainly by the door in baby blue boxers. He was holding his weight laboriously against the cane but showed no discomfort from it on his face. Cato tried not to stare at his state of undress for too long as to not make the boy uncomfortable but it was very difficult not to let his eyes wander.

"Did you find anything?" asked Peeta.

Confused, Cato frowned. "What?"

"To sleep in? Did you find anything to sleep in?"

"Oh . . . Oh! Yeah, right, of course. Uh . . . not yet." He dove back into his rummaging, finally finding a black shirt that could serve as a sleep shirt. Not shy in the slightest, he stood up and started fiddling with the clasps on the gladiator clothes Watt and Jena had put Clove and himself in. When he finally got the heavy armour off, he cracked his neck and quickly discarded his shirt.

Peeta, who had been sitting on the bed fiddling with Cato's headdress, found his eyes widening in surprise when the career took his shirt off without abandon. His first instinct was to slap his hand over his eyes, which he did. But he found himself parting his fingers out of curiousity to peer at him as he put the black shirt on. Cato laughed when he saw the boy's reaction to his changing.

"I don't look that bad that you have to cover your eyes do I?" he asked.

"Consider it a form of privacy," Peeta replied shyly.

"Is that why I can see your eyes through the spaces between your fingers?" Cato asked.

Horrified at being caught, Peeta snapped his fingers shut again and held them together tightly. Cato chuckled and kissed the top of Peeta's head. The younger blond refused to move his hands away from his eyes, not wanting to face him after being caught staring like a peeping tom. "You're not even going to look at me now?" Cato asked with amusement.

"No," mumbled Peeta.

Unable to resist, Cato sat down beside him and turned his head towards him. Still not removing his hand, Peeta didn't see when Cato leaned forward and wasn't prepared for it. He kissed him softly at first, as if to just taste the boy's lips, before getting addicted and needing more. When he descended again, he was hungry and demanding, wanting to kiss him breathless. Peeta gasped in shock, his mouth parting in surprise. His gasp dissolved into a moan when Cato gently nipped his bottom lip and the hand that had been covering his eyes moved and pushed back into the career's hair.

Cato smiled at his eagerness, guiding him back to sit against the headboard of the bed. Peeta whimpered at the loss of his lips against his when Cato pulled back, only to hit his head off the back of the headboard when the older blond's mouth descended to his neck. A moan pushed past his swollen lips as he sucked on the soft skin under his jaw.

"Cato," he said in a hushed whisper, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to handle the pleasure the career was bestowing upon him. It was beginning to get a bit too intense for him to digest right that moment.

"Hmm?"

"I'm tired, can we go to sleep?"

When Cato sat up with a curious frown on his face, he saw that Peeta wasn't telling him to stop out of the fact that he wasn't enjoying himself. That much was obvious from the boy's flushed cheeks and heavy panting. Maybe everything that had happened tonight with Auntie Mya and such, he just wasn't in the right frame of mind.

"Sure," he said.

Both of them lay down on the bed, Cato's body cocooned around Peeta's, almost as if protecting him. His arms were securely wrapped around the baker's waist, his forehead resting on his shoulder. Once the duvet was covering them, Peeta wiggled around to get comfortable, unaware of how his backside was rubbing against Cato's crotch. The career bit his lip, fighting the moan that was bubbling up in his throat. He controlled his breathing and focused hard on it until the boy settled down.

He had no idea, the effect he could have on people.

~xXx~

The first thing Peeta noticed when he woke up was that his throat was dry as sandpaper. Something hard was pressed against his lower back and he realized with a jolt that it was Cato. He had left him high and dry earlier, not letting the kissing session go any further, even though Cato had expressed his obvious desire to do so. He felt awful.

Slipping out of bed quietly as to not wake up Cato, Peeta padded out of the bedroom in search of the small kitchen compartment he'd barely noticed when he was screaming like a pansy after seeing Mya. He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he walked, trying to call up the memory of which way he had to go to get to the kitchen. The entire floor was dark, the lights on their lowest settings, and the sky outside was still dull black so he mustn't have been asleep too long.

There was a flash of red out of the corner of his eye as he reached a turn in a corridor. Something heavy suddenly bashed into him, knocking him into the wall. Before he could assess what had happened, a hand took a hold of his neck, squeezing painfully and making all air rush out. Peeta gasped in horror as Auntie Mya's face emerged from the darkness. Her pale, porcelin skin still gleamed ominously in the darkness, just like he remembered, her glaring eyes sending a chill down his spine. She hadn't changed at all.

She stood there glaring at him for a considerable amount of minutes. Peeta was struggling to breathe, his hands scrabbling at hers single hand that was preventing him from breathing. Her grip was like iron, never wavering no matter how hard she tightened her fingers around his neck. Finally, she moved. She pulled a marker out of her pocket and uncapped it with her teeth.

Peeta watched her hand as it flew across the whiteboard bolted to the wall. He couldn't breathe, his lungs constricting as he grappled for breath. Her non writing hand was holding onto his neck so tight he started thinking this was his end.

'You haven't changed,' her curly writing hand writing stated. 'That's annoying. I was hoping you'd be ugly or something, maybe scarred for your life. So, what? I lose my tongue and you're still good looking? Bagged a career and all? That's not luck, that's just rude.'

He couldn't respond, his throat was too dry and scratchy from her strangling him.

'Be warned Mellark, I still know Mr. Woods. Mr. Woods still remembers you and still wouldn't mind having you. You watch your step or I might just have to kidnap you in your sleep and get my money from your still awaiting cilent. If you do as I say though, I might just leave you be.' Her mouth curled into a smile. 'Any responses?' She handed him the marker, guiding his hand to rest against the board.

'What do I have to do?' he wrote.

Auntie Mya's grin widened. She wiped the board with her sleeve. 'Snow put me on your floor on purpose. He knew that if I delievered his messages to you then you'd most defintely listen. Before he makes you do anything drastic, he wants you to up the auntie with your relationship with that hunk from 2.'

Peeta glared at her but she continued regardless.

'A great deal of the Capitol's attention is captured by sex. You and your boyfriend need to be more sexual toward each other. Kiss in public, let him grab your ass, whatever, just stop being such a pussy and let him do what it's obvious he wants to do. Never mind what I did to you, you can't dwell on that you coward.' She wiped the board again. 'There's a tribute party tomorrow to let the Capitol audience get to know the people going into the Games. A lot of t.v watchers are going to be there. It's a great oppurtunity to win them over.'

Peeta snatched the marker from her, still gasping for air, and wrote, 'Why do you care about all this?'

Mya smirked, her hand loosening it's hold on him. She wiped the board clean slowly. She took a step forward so her body pressed his flush against the wall. Her breath tickled his face and his heartbeat increased in a panic. 'Because, my dear sweet Peeta,' she wrote, 'it's your fault I can't talk anymore. It's your fault I can't kiss anymore. It's _your_ fault that I am the way I am now. I'm a bitter woman Mellark and I want revenge. Nice to see you still need a cane. Let me see.'

She hooked the marker into the collar of his shirt by the lid and pushed his boxer shorts up his leg to examine the scar. Peeta stiffened in fear at the feeling of her fingernails dancing along his skin. Auntie Mya was always too touchy feely, even when she wasn't trying to be. She traced the lining of the scar with an amused smirk on her face. She grabbed the marker again.

'I'm glad to see you've got a reminder of me,' she scribbled. 'How sweet. Remember what I said Mellark, Tribute party tomorrow. Do something big. Don't let Snow down. He hates to be disappointed.' Then she did something surprising.

She kissed him.

She had no tongue to shove down his throat like she used to do last year when he was kidnapped. Her lips still had the same burning effect on Peeta's mouth though that had him struggling to get away from her. When she pulled back, she let go of his neck and let him slide to the floor. When he looked at her fearfully, she simply winked before strutting away down the hall.

Leaving Peeta on the cold steel floor, completely tramuatized.

_A/N: Heh, heh, Mya's a bitch, ain't she? _

_Preview: Chapter Eleven_

_"I know what you have to do," Cato murmered into his ear. Peeta took a shuddering breath and shut his eyes in horror. "Just follow my lead, okay?" He was about to ask what he was talking about when his hands slid down his shoulder blades to rest on the small of his back. "If you feel a tingling sensation down below, it's okay, standard reaction. You ready?" _

_Please R&R! :D :D_

_I got a tumblr! Follow me and I'll follow you back! : / hg4ever . tumblr . com . / no spaces :)_


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: Sorry for the wait guys, I've been obsessed with the Mortal Instruments lately and got distracted! :D**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**_

Chapter Eleven

Cato woke up to sunlight streaming in through the blinds, a warm puddle of light spilling out onto the capitol regulation duvet. He stretched his arms over his head and sighed. He was surprised that he had actually slept soundly the previous night. Normally he would have dreamt of the Games, or fighting and killing, or something to that effect, but last night he actually dreamt of Peeta. Which was shockingly odd because it wasn't very often when people he knew would turn up in his dreams if not being killed or being involved in a lustful activity of some sort.

He turned his head to check on the dream intruder, finding him sound asleep on his stomach, soft snores eminating from his sleeping body. Cato propped himself up on his elbow and reached out to softly stroke Peeta's hair. The locks were silky and felt perfect running between his fingers. He stayed like that for a while, just petting the boy's head, watching his sleepy expression carefully. It broke his heart that something so beautiful could be so broken inside.

He trailed his eyes down his back, along the perfect slope of his shoulder blades to the small strip of skin revealed by the way Peeta lay. Huh, he had dimples. How cute. Cato refused to let his eyes dip any further because then it would be tempting his self control-which wasn't the best right now-because the baker had an amazing backside that took a _lot_ not to stare at.

In the end, Cato had to force himself out of bed to stop himself from doing something he'd regret later. Normally he'd do such things without abandon but there was something about Peeta that stopped him from doing so to him. Was it the sparkle in his eyes? The way his lips would quirk up shyly when Cato complimented him? Never in his entire life had the career ever had a relationship so complicated. Then again, it was his choice to chose a virgin, because then he was assured that he hadn't been with anyone else.

Cato decided to take a leave of absence from the room and get a glass of water. He turned a corner down the stainless steel corridor, and paused at the sight of a white board bolted to the wall. Curious as to why a board was nailed to the wall at all, he took a step towards it to examine it. There was something scrawled across it in curly handwriting:

_'Because, my dear sweet Peeta, it's your fault I can't talk anymore. It's your fault I can't kiss anymore. It's your fault that I am the way I am now. I'm a bitter woman Mellark and I want revenge. Nice to see you still need a cane. Let me see.  
I'm glad to see you've got a reminder of me. How sweet. Remember what I said Mellark, Tribute party tomorrow. Do something big. Don't let Snow down. He hates to be disappointed.'_

It had to be Mya. She might not have been the only avox on the floor but she was the only one who knew Peeta's name. What the hell was she doing writing all over a whiteboard though? And what was she talking about? Don't let Snow down? Don't let Snow down with what?

Cato looked over his shoulder and saw a camera perched up in the corner of the ceiling. The lens stared right at the whiteboard, staring him blankly in the face. He was just tall enough to reach it, if he stood up on his tiptoes. The camera resisted to his pulling, but one strong yank made it break free, falling into his hands with a small click. It was a funny contraption; Cato had never seen one before now. There was a pulsing red light beside the lens and a miniature indented hole on the bottom for where it attatched to the arm that kept it perched on the wall.

Clove knew about cameras, her father had been a photographer, and was very clever when it came to how they worked and such. Careful not to wake anyone up, Cato crossed the living area, camera in hand, and knocked on Clove's bedroom door. There was a shuffling of silk covers before a rough groan rang out through the wood. "What!?" Clove snapped.

"It's me," Cato said in a quiet voice.

"What do you want!?"

Sighing, Cato pushed into her bedroom and shut the door. Clove was sitting up on her bed, a pool of pink silk covers around her legs, and her dark hair was a straggled mess of bedhead. Her green eyes were blurred with sleep but she was still able to keep a glare on her face. "Keep quiet, will you? You'll wake up Brutus and Enobaria!"

"What do you want Cato?" Clove hissed. She rubbed her eyes and rested her back against the headboard of the bed. "What time is it?"

"I don't know," replied Cato. He tossed her the camera. "I want you to show me how to see what's on this."

"Why?" Clove asked groggily.

"_Because_ it's urgent."

Clove dropped the camera back on the mattress and lay back down. "No chance," she mumbled through the covers. "Try again at a decent hour." Cato sighed irritabley and pulled the covers off her. His district partner growled and sat back up. "Cato! It's early and there's training today! I don't want to throw a knife and miss just because you're keeping me up at ungodly hours in the morning!"

"Summer of the 65th annual Hunger Games, training in the park, you were pinned to the ground by Sam Reyes who was about to punch your teeth straight out of his mouth because of the fact that you really pierced through his brain with a projectile knife," Cato ryhmed off. "I remember, quite clearly might I add, grabbing the bastard and hitting him before he could hit you. You-now this is something I _defnitely_ remember-were so greatful that you said, 'Oh Cato, thank you, I owe you anything.' Which I still haven't collected up on."

Clove looked horrified. "We were _nine!_"

"Or, if you'd like, I'll tell people that you used to wear those lime green dresses with the blood red flowers patterned into them and started your sentences with 'Oh'," Cato replied. Clove was glaring at him with renewed anger, eyes blazing in a way that made him think of fire crackling in a fireplace. "Which will it be?"

Clove clenched her jaw. She snatched the camera up and slipped out of bed. She made sure to bump him as she passed before disappearing out the door. Cato followed her back out into the living area. She pulled open a small cupboard underneath the screen that was on the right hand wall. Rummaging around as if she knew the place inside out, Clove produced a long black cable. "I knew they had one of these things around."

"What does it do?" asked Cato.

"If you connect it to the camera like this," Clove murmered, connecting one end into a small hole in the back of the camera and the other end into the back of the screen, "and to this, it connects both of them together and once I click on play on the footage, it will show up on the screen." She looked at Cato with a raised eyebrow. "What is it you want to see?"

"Start off with last night," Cato replied.

Clove brought up the footage from the previous night up onto the screen. Cato stared at the black and white picture of the corner where he found the camera looking, no sign of anything or anyone. But the whiteboard was blank. And that's what pushed him to ask, "Can you forward it until something happens?" Clove sighed.

"Yes," she said. She pressed a button on the side of the camera and the image sped up, the clock in the corner's numbers speeding forward in a blurr. Finally, a red head came into view and she stopped forwarding it. "Is that the avox?"

"Yeah," Cato replied, his eyes locked on the woman as she backed into a dark aclove below the camera. She stayed there for quite a while so Clove started forwarding again until something new happened. Which happened to be the appearance of Peeta. Almost as soon as he'd walked into the lens' view, Mya had lurched forward and slammed him backwards into the wall.

"Oh my god," Clove said, putting the camera down and walking to stand beside Cato to watch properly. As an avox, Mya couldn't speak, so instead she had a marker and the white board that was attatched to the wall.

_'You haven't changed. That's annoying. I was hoping you'd be ugly or something, maybe scarred for your life. So, what? I lose my tongue and you're still good looking? Bagged a career and all? That's not luck, that's just rude.'_

_'Be warned Mellark, I still know Mr. Woods. Mr. Woods still remembers you and still wouldn't mind having you. You watch your step or I might just have to kidnap you in your sleep and get my money from your still awaiting cilent. If you do as I say though, I might just leave you be. Any responses?'_

"Mr. Woods?" Clove voiced. Cato was as oblvious as she was, never having heard the name before. But from the threat that Mya had bestowed, it was clear that he was something to do with her slavery community.

_'What do I have to do?'_ Peeta wrote. His face was red from the woman's hand being around his throat but he seemed more concerned of their proximity than he did of her suffocating him.

_'Snow put me on your floor on purpose. He knew that if I delievered his messages to you then you'd most defintely listen. Before he makes you do anything drastic, he wants you to up the auntie with your relationship with that hunk from 2. A great deal of the Capitol's attention is captured by sex. You and your boyfriend need to be more sexual toward each other. Kiss in public, let him grab your ass, whatever, just stop being such a pussy and let him do what it's obvious he wants to do. Never mind what I did to you, you can't dwell on that you coward.' _She wiped the board. _'There's a tribute party tomorrow to let the Capitol audience get to know the people going into the Games. A lot of t.v watchers are going to be there. It's a great oppurtunity to win them over.'_

"A party?" Clove said. "I didn't know they had parties. They mustn't film them."

Cato wasn't focused on that though. He was fuming from what Mya was expecting of himself and Peeta. Could she really expect someone who blushes at the slightest compliment to be more sexual towards someone he still barely knew? In front of the Capitol? It was ridiculous.

They watched as Peeta snatched the marker back and wrote, _'Why do you care about all this?'_

_'Because, my dear sweet Peeta, it's your fault I can't talk anymore. It's your fault I can't kiss anymore. It's your fault that I am the way I am now. I'm a bitter woman Mellark and I want revenge. Nice to see you still need a cane. Let me see.'_ She then proceeded to pull up his boxer shorts and ran her fingers over his scar. Clove paused the footage.

"Holy shit where the hell did he get that?!" she exclaimed. "It's _huge!_ I didn't know people in tweleve scarred like that!"

"Doesn't matter," Cato said. He turned on his heel and walked around the couch. "Where is that avox, I'm going to rip her in half." Clove leapt over the sofa and landed on her bare feet in front of him without making a sound, blocking his path.

"You do that and you're getting sent home," she said. "The woman said she was sending messages through President Snow so it's obvious that you'll be in some deep trouble if you don't do what he wants and you kill his messenger." Cato's hands tightened into fists by his sides, his boiling age being unable to shimmer down. Clove was annoyingly right. If he hurt Mya it was most likely he'd get sent home for killing and maiming before the Games.

"I don't understand why Snow cares about our sex lives anyway," he said through gritted teeth.

"Snow is a sadistic man," Clove replied. She took his elbow and dragged him around to the sofa, pushing him to sit down. When he did, she perched on the coffee table in front of it. "Remember when my mother went to the Capitol for a week when we were thirteen?"

Cato nodded. Her mother was the head peacekeeper for their district and sometimes went on offical business trips to the capitol. They were mainly only for a couple of days but that one time when they were thirteen, she had been gone for a week. Clove had to stay at his house after school while her father worked until ten at night, and that was when their friendship had grown the most. Mostly because they shared the mutual desire of winning the Hunger Games and had spent most of the time sharing fighting strategies.

"What about it?" he asked.

"She bought a prositute while she was there." Clove's eyes were locked on the floor, for once unable to look him in the eye. "You know . . . because of my dad's . . . ?"

_Abstinence? _Cato thought. Clove's parents' relationship had been waning from the moment their daughter was born. Her father started to refuse to have sex with her mother which had aged them both terribly and made their moods as rotten as mud. It was the talk of the District for weeks. Even though 2 was a big place, news travelled like wildfire, and the head peacekeeper's relationship with her husband failing was on of the _biggest_ slices of gossip they'd had in a _long_ time. Clove didn't talk about it that often, if at all.

"Yeah, I know," he said.

Clove nodded. Finally, her eyes flicked up to his. "Do you remember Finnick Odair?"

"How could you forget someone like Finnick Odair?" Cato asked. The guy was a legend among the career packs because of the fact that he still obtained the record of most expensive gift given to a tribute, which was a trident. Apparently he was attractive, Cato couldn't see it that well but maybe if he squinted he was alright looking.

"Okay, well, my mom obviously didn't tell me that she'd bought a prosititute," Clove explained. "I found the receipt in her bedside table-not that I was snooping through her stuff-and a thank you card she was currently writing. The receipt was signed off by President Snow, giving permission for Joy Jettison-my mother-to have the company of Finnick Odair for the night to do as she pleased with."

Cato frowned. Where was she going with this? "I'm not sure I'm following you, Clove," he said.

Clove sighed irritabely but continued on regardless as to how uncomfortable the content was going to make her. "You know how my mom is a sadistic, right? She loves the Games and the blood and stuff well . . . that doesn't stop just when training for the Games."

"And . . . ?"

"She found my dad when she was looking for a masochist to have a fling with. Of course, that resulted in myself being born." Clove shuddered.

"How is this relevant?" Cato asked, confused.

"Because Snow signed her off with permission to do with Odair as she _pleased._" Her gaze was hard as she stared at him, praying to God that he would not make her have to say it out loud. Cato tried to piece it together, surely she wasn't implying that President Snow let her mother do such things to a victor, right? He took in the hard and disgusted glint in his friend's green eyes and realized that this was, indeed, what she was saying.

"_What?_"

"He owns us now, Cato," Clove said. "President Snow owns us all. Finnick won his Games and looks beautiful, so Snow sells him off to who he pleases. Our minds, our bodies, our _souls_ even, now belong to the citizens of the Capitol. Even winning the Games won't save us, Finnick's position has made that much obvious. It seems that the audience is interested in your relationship with Peeta. And, if you want him to survive this, then you're going to have to deliver."

"He's a _virgin_ Clove, there isn't much he can do," Cato insisted. "Mya says he has to do . . . well, you saw what she said he has to do. How can someone who can't even bear having someone's eyes on him for two long do _that?_"

Clove's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "You're going to have to do it for him."

~xXx~

After training that day, when Cato and Clove arrived back on their floor, their stylists were waiting on them, telling them there was a tribute party they had to attend. Cato wasn't sure where Peeta was; his partner had to stay up on their floor while they had been down in the training center. It made Cato wonder whether only tributes were allowed to see such areas as the training space and not those whose lives were definitely secured for the future.

After gritting his teeth through another session with his demented Capitol prep team and stylist, their ridiculous accents curling around his last nerves like electric coils, he was finally, as they had put it, 'ready to be recieved.' Clove was lucky, her stylist was Watt, a cool, calm guy who wasn't crazy at all.

Clove herself actually looked really pretty. Ink black hair tied back into a messy bun, one rebellious lock of hair twisting down the side of her face. Her dress was steely grey silk-the colour of metal-and the sleves were almost transparent, slipping down her arms to leave her freckled shoulders bare. The heels of her shoes weren't too high and matched the colour of her dress. Everything looked expectionally nice bar the expression on her face.

"I hate dresses," she grumbled. "I miss my sneakers."

"You and me both," Cato replied, glaring at the stupid dress shoes on his feet. He'd gotten off luckier than his District partner, having only to wear a normal black suit with small cufflinks in the shape of tomahawks. He supposed it was supposed to be clever but to him it just seemed tacky.

Peeta was waiting on them when they emerged from the corridor into the living room. He was sitting awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, baby blue eyes locked on the floor. Cato took a moment to take in what he was wearing. A black suit whose jacket buttoned up along one side military style, the lapels opened to show off a bright orange tie. The arms of the sleeves and the bottom of the trousers were laded with flames that climbed up his arms and legs. When he shifted-even if slightly-and hit the light right, it sparkled orange, yellow, red and blue. It made him look like he was on fire.

Thankful to see them and having to sit in silence no longer, Peeta jumped to his feet and smiled when they reached him. Looking like on fire or not, his smile was still the brightest thing he had.

"What's with the flames?" Clove asked.

"Since Katniss and Gale were on fire at the Chariot Rides, they said since I'm from the same District that I should be the same," Peeta answered. "It's ridiculous, I know." Cato watched him carefully, wondering how he could hide what had happened earlier with Mya so easily, as if it hadn't happened at all. Up close, he noticed that the baker's eyelids were smudged with grey charcoal, giving them a smokey effect and making the blue of his eyes even brighter. "You guys look great."

"Thanks Peet, you do too!" Clove replied, suddenly a whole lot more affectionate after having since the footage with Mya. She slipped into the elevator first, immediately striking up a conversation with Watt. Cato hadn't noticed he'd just been staring at his claimed partner mindlessly until the boy cleared his throat. "Are you okay, Cato?" he asked.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, I'm fine," Cato said, finally snapping out of his trance. It was in that moment that he noticed there was something different about Peeta. He was staring at him with his eyebrows screwed up, as if thinking deeply about something. He realized then that he was probably trying to think of a way to make themselves more intimate without sparking his curiousity. It save him the discomfort of doing it himself, Cato wrapped an arm around the younger blond's shoulders and held him close. At first, Peeta tensed but then relaxed almost immediately as Cato guided him into the elevator with Clove and Watt.

The party was in a back area outside the training center. Fairy lights were strung up everywhere to light the perimeter and the ground was scattered with what looked like miniuate diamonds. Cato couldn't believe they could throw something so valuable on the floor like it was common dirt. Tributes were mixed in with Capitol citizens, mingling and chatting. Peeta stiffened in Cato's hold, obviously not a fan of having to talk to people.

Thinking on his feet, Cato guided them away from the crowd to a small, quiet area off to the right that blocked the view of the rest of the crowd from behind a pillar. Peeta looked immediately relieved to be out of the prying eyes of the others. It still baffled Cato how Snow expected such a private person to do such public things. Clove was right, it would have to be down to him to make a move at this party.

He quickly racked his mind for something they could do. Something that was big. Magazine articles from back home flew into his mind: scandals of break-ups, make-ups, cheaters and liars, everything that caught the eyes of the population. Every once or twice, Joy-Clove's mom-would bring back a Capitol magazine and it'd be filled with fashion tips and news on various victors, rumours and secrets exposed on the glossy pages of the thin books. One thing that burned into his mind were lovers caught sneaking off into priviate areas during parties to be intimate with each other.

Well, they'd already completed half of that.

Taking the baker by surprise, he pulled him close and folded him into his arms. Cato lowered his mouth to Peeta's ear and whispered in a hushed voice, "I know what you have to do." The younger blond took a shuddering breath and shut his eyes in horror. "Just follow my lead, okay?" He slid his hands down his shoulder blades to rest on the small of his back. "If you feel a tingling sensation down below, it's okay, standard reaction. You ready?" Peeta nodded against his shoulder, already quivering in his arms.

Deciding to go slow at first, Cato tipped Peeta's chin up with his knuckle and gently pressed his lips against the baker's soft ones. Eyes fluttering shut and plump lips parting in a small gasp that drove Cato's libido up the wall, Peeta's arms came to wind almost hesitantly around his waist. Smiling, Cato reached down and secured them around him, a clear message that what he was doing was okay. The kiss increased in intensity as they stood there, it soon becoming a battle over who could win the possession of who's mouth.

Cato, being more experienced than Peeta in the kissing field, inevitabely won, exploring the boy's mouth with fevor and excitement. Peeta's hands pushed up his back and he shivered at the feeling of his fingertips on the nape of his neck. Making a careful decision to see how far he could take it, Cato slid his own hand down past Peeta's back where he softly cupped the boy's behind.

Peeta gasped into his mouth, dropping his cane with a clatter, but instead of pulling away, his hands buried into the career's hair and pulled him closer. His blood pumping in his ears, Cato backed Peeta up against the pillar, losing himself in the lustful haze and forgetting what exactly it was they were doing this for. He tugged on the orange tie until it loosened, single handedly unbuttoning the top buttons of Peeta's shirt to expose his neck, and nipped a trail from his chin to his collar bone with his teeth, the baker's moans of approval the only thing spurring him on.

Groaning when Cato's hand squeezed his backside, Peeta tugged almost viciously on the career's hair, begging for more. Never being one to deprive people of what they want, Cato came him exactly that, and he found himself slinging the boy's leg around his hip so that their crotches brushed against each other's. Silencing whatever noise of pleasure the younger was about to release with a kiss, Cato became fully aware of the fact that they were in a public place, abeit the fact that they did want to get caught by at least one person who would spread it around.

As if remembering this as well, Peeta shut his eyes and counted to ten, calming himself down. Cato was standing impossibly close, and he was hyper aware of the fact that while the career's one hand was gripping his thigh to keep his leg wrapped around his hip, the other still had an amazingly pleasureable hold on his ass. It sent chills of desire up his spine, sending shockwaves through to his heart that caused it to stutter with lust.

They stared at each other for a considerable amount of moments, both of them at a loss of what to say or do to defuse the siutation. They couldn't go back out from behind the pillar, not in the state they were in, and just hoped to god that it had the affect that they'd hoped it would. As Cato reluctantly let the boy go, he tried to think of old grannies in bikinis to deflate his situation . . . _down below._ It wasn't working well though as all he could think about was how plump and soft Peeta's bum had been in his hands. He slapped himself, which made Peeta's eyebrows shoot to his hairline in surprise.

"What was that for?" he asked in astonishment.

"I can't stop thinking about . . . never mind." Cato slapped himself again. He noticed how quickly the baker had straightened himself out and did a double take. "How did you fix yourself so fast?"

Peeta shrugged. "I thought of Mya."

Oh. Right. Good plan. Cato felt his arousal melting away as he thought of the bitch avox back on their floor. This better have pleased her because it was the best he could come up with on such short notice. Sneaking off at a party to make out?

That was good stuff, right?

~xXx~

It was good stuff.

The next day nearly every Capitol Magazine had the sneak off scandal plastered over their covers. Writers gushing about how cute the 'Peetato' couple were and how it was sweet that they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Some of them had even managed to get photos, which made Cato feel a bit cheap and degraded. He'd informed Peeta of the success but instead of expressing joy at being safe for now, the boy fell silent at the sight of the articles exposing their lives as easily as it would expose a cat being saved from a burning building.

It was obvious what the truth now was.

Clove had said that President Snow owned their minds, their bodies and their souls. Well, it was clear what he now also owned.

He owned their relationship.

_**A/N: Again, I apologize for the wait. If you haven't read the moral instruments, you really should though. It's amazing and has a yaoi couple that's canon who are perfect for each other! :D :D**_

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_**Please R&R! :D**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or Vienna Teng's music.**_

Chapter Twelve

Peeta sat curled up on the couch on the District 2 floor, a blue blanket wrapped securely around his body. Cato and Clove were both down on the training floor, on their second day of intimidating the other Districts' tributes, making their mark and showing who the alphas of this year's Games were. Peeta wasn't allowed down in the training area; he wasn't sure why but he'd heard Enobaria saying something to Cato about 'Gamemaker to Tribute confidentuality.'

One of the many glossy gossip magizines lay open on the coffee table situated in front of the couch in which he currently sat. How the columnists could blow such things so far out of porportion that the simplest of things could fill up nearly half of the articles inside the mag was beyond Peeta's comprehension. Line upon line blabbering about Cato and his relationship, filling up space that could be used to draw notice to more important matters like the poverty of the other Districts or the fact that the Games were corrupt.

There was stuff written about the Hunger Games; profiles on the tributes-the article's author commenting on whose favour the odds will sway in-photos of them all at the party and, the main point of interest, himself and Cato and their escapade behind the pillar. He was ashamed of it, horribly disgusted in what they had done. Of course, it wasn't Cato's fault, he somehow knew of what they had to do and had decided to take the matter into his own hands to try to save Peeta's sanity. In doing this, he had unwitteningly made it worse.

Those moments in which Cato's lips were on his, when his hands were on his body, Peeta had felt more alive than he'd felt his entire life. Except instead of the encounter being mortifying and emotionally scarring it was actually . . . amazing. And yet somehow, _somehow_, it was still tainted with Mya's veil of terror.

Peeta curled his fingers around the fabric of the old worn blanket, his mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts; an array of blurred pictures and feelings and experiences that he couldn't straighten out. When he tried to think back to the previous night, what really happened would merge with the delusions from his nightmares, replacing Cato with Mya, the comforting warmth of the party melting into the darkness of the basement he'd been held in that tortorous week.

Was this what Snow wanted? For him to lose his mind? If so, he was doing a damn good job. His eyes slid to the magazine on the table: where he'd thrown it when he'd came into the living room. The varitey of the angles of the photos in the articles were astounding. Front, back, from either side, even some overhead. How keen was Snow to capture their relationship for the Capitol? Or were those cameras already planted all over the party to spy on the tributes anyway . . . security was very tight.

But it wasn't the way the photos had gotten taken that had disturbed him as much as the content of them did. It wasn't the fact that he'd been kissing Cato that disgusted him, it was the fact that the first time he'd ever been intimate with someone was being broadcast across the city, for every citizen to witness and enjoy.

Peeta shivered. He didn't recognize the boy in the magazine. Even though he remembered how the cold marble of the pillar felt pressed against his back, how the warmth of Cato's lips on his skin heated him up, the boy in the pictures _weren't_ him. It couldn't have been him. The boy in the photos looked like he was on a completely different planet, his head thrown back against the pillar, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to handle every sensation that was being thrown at him. The type of person you'd see in a soft porn mag, not a gossip magazine.

Why was it when he finally felt what it was like to feel good without the pain he felt when Mya had touched him, it was exposed to millions of people the very next day?

Growling in frustration, Peeta ripped the blanket from his body and threw it over the back of the sofa. Everything was just so overwhelming he wasn't sure how he was going to handle being at Snow's beck and call through Mya when Cato was no longer with him. The only thing really keeping him anchored _was_ Cato, but he wasn't really sure why.

A shadow emerged from behind the sofa, casting over the coffee table and reverting off the far wall. Peeta felt eyes on the back of his head like fire burning into his skin. Sucking in a nervous breath, he turned around and looked up.

The sight of Mya before him jolted the usual reaction: his heart stopping and sending a wash of horror through his bones. He fell off the couch and crawled underneath the coffee table to the other side, jumping to his feet and holding a protective hand out in front of him, "Oh no, you stay right there!" he commanded when Mya took a step forward. She stopped and cocked her head, her features drawn together in a scowl. "What do you want now?"

Rolling her eyes, Mya produced a whiteboard from her jacket. It was portable, the size of her hand, and had a small green marker strapped to it. She wrote across the board at lightening speed, a year of practicing making it as easy as talking itself. She turned it around and held it out to him to read.

_"Relax you idiot. I'm just here to tell you that Snow is pleased with yourself and Cato's performance. You've gotten the capitol talking, well done."_

Peeta wanted to relax but there was something in the woman's smile that had him worried. "That's it?" he asked apprehensively. Mya laughed. The sound was choked and distorted, like a cat being strangled. Her hand scrawled across the board, finishing her sentences in less than ten seconds.

_"No, it's not. I have to deliver your second job."_

Peeta's blood ran cold. "What is it?" he asked.

Mya reached into the pocket of her red jeans and threw him a camera. He caught it and examined the piece of technology carefully. "What do I do with this?" he frowned. Mya wiped the board with her sleeve and explained:

_"President Snow wants an idea of what you look like. Whether he'd have to hire actors for the more explicit content he intends to release or use yourself the way you are. He knows well enough from your boyfriend's regimes of how he looks but still wants you."_ Mya's eyes danced over his face as he tried to figure out what she was implying.

"You mean . . ."

Mya sighed and rubbed the board, her face twisting into sick amusement as she wrote across the board three words in capital letters. _"YOUR BODY. NAKED."_ Peeta's jaw unhinged, his mouth hanging open in horror. Mya smirked and wrote, _"Shut your mouth honey, you'll catch flies."_

"B-b-but _why?!"_ Peeta exclaimed.

_"I told you. Because he has to know what your physical condition is for some of the things he's intending to use for the gay community of the Capitol,"_ she replied. _"Which is, if it isn't obvious, a LARGE portion of the Capitol. You should hear some of the stuff they're saying about yourself and your boyfriend. The vulgar words they use to describe your bodies and what they'd love to do to you and watch you do to each other."_

"Shut up," Peeta said through gritted teeth.

Mya continued on regardless with an relentless disregard of the effects it was having on the boy's mind. _"'That boy from 12 is soooo sexy,'"_ she wrote, _"'I could just cuff him to my bedpost and fuck him all night longgg.'"_ Even though she could not speak, Peeta could hear her taunting tone echoing in his mind. _"'I just want to ravage that tight ass and pop his juicy cherry.'"_

"Shut up Mya!" Peeta snapped. For all he knew, Mya could be writing rubbish, but the statements were still messing with his head, making him want to crawl into a corner and fold in on himself. Out of the spotlight where no one could see him or judge him or even have a chance to think any of those vile thoughts about himself or Cato.

_"Why?"_ Mya asked._ "Can't you handle it, champ?"_

"Just stop it!" Peeta was close to ripping his hair out in frustration. Mya smirked and cocked an eyebrow before starting to write again. "Please stop, I don't want to hear it."

_"'I want that boy so desperately I would do anything to get him. I believe he isn't going into the games Mr. Snow and I'd like to keep him for maybe a couple of days during the Games. Screw his boyfriend, I want that boy to be mine.'"_ If she wasn't smiling before, she definitely was now.

"You're lying," Peeta said.

_"Can you be so sure?"_ Mya teased.

"Yes actually, I can. You're a manipulative-" Peeta clenched his jaw and fists, not finishing his sentence. Mya laughed again and he winced at the ugly sound.

_"Ever the polite," _she said._ "Still don't swear Mr. Mellark? How sad."_ She nodded at the camera still in his hands._ "Photos. Done and handed over to me tomorrow morning. If I don't have them by ten o'clock . . . Well . . . you know what will happen."_ Her scarlet lips curled up into a cruel smile as she turned and walked away slowly, every clip of her heels ringing in Peeta's head like a hammer ramming into a sheet of solid metal.

~xXx~

"Oh Lord Jesus my feet hurt," Clove moaned on the elevator took them back up to their floor. She brushed a strand of sweaty hair behind her ear and sighed. "As soon as I get back to the floor, I'm having a shower and then passing out until dinner."

"Sounds like a plan," Cato replied, absent-mindedly fiddling with his sword sheath which was empty as he wasn't allowed to bring weapons out of the training center. "I'll probably just spend some time with Peeta." Clove grinned goofily at him, sweat rolling down the side of her face as she rocked back and forth on her feet. "What?" he asked.

"Spend some time with Peeta?" she asked. "Like the time you spent with him at the party?"

Cato pulled a face. "You saw that huh?"

"All of the Capitol saw it!" Clove cackled. "Don't worry, I don't judge." That was one of the best things about Clove, she kept her nose out of where it didn't belong. As the doors slid open, she winked. "Good job," she said before flouncing away to the left, away to her bedroom. Cato went the oppisote way, turning right and heading to his and Peeta's room.

Something made him pause in the living room. He wasn't sure what it was. Like an upset in the balance of the room. Everything looked the way he had left it, every piece of furniture where it had been when they'd first arrived and every nick nack and bit and piece were turned the right way and in the right place. And yet something was wrong. Something heavy hung in the air, almost completely oppressing him and bringing his mood down to the floor.

On the coffee table was one of the magazines, lying open on the pages showcasing the photos of himself and Peeta at the party. A blanket lay nearby, in a heaped mess poking out from behind the sofa. Cato sighed, reaching over and shutting the magazine. His eyebrows bowed into a frown, a scowl burning into his features when more photos were exposed on the front. A growl bubbled at the back of his throat as he flipped the mag onto it's front so the back was facing upwards which, thankfully, was advertising 0% fat hot chocolate called Slim-a-coco.

The whimper came first. The sound revertabrating from somewhere distant. Cato turned on his heel and waited for the sound to come agian. It did, quieter this time. Coming from the direction of his and Peeta's bedroom. Worry washing over him like a tidal wave drowning a surfer, he headed down the corridor, took the turn and stopped at the door. Hand on doorknob, he pressed his ear against the wood and listened for a moment. When the sound came for a third time, he pushed in and let his eyes consume the room.

A couple of things were in disarry but nothing to worry about: rumpled bed covers, shoes lying by the bed, a shirt discarded by the door of the bathroom. Which was, inexpliciably, shut. "Peeta, I'm back," Cato called, shrugging off his jacket and slinging it onto the bed. No response came, prompting him to worry about whether Peeta was even in there. He wasn't in the living area though and there's really no-where else for him to go. He turned to the bathroom and approached it, rapping his knuckles on the steel. "Peeta? You in there?"

Another sound came that sounded distinctively like a sob. Worried, Cato, pushed the door handle and tried to push in. It was locked, which just increased the worry even more. "Peeta? What's wrong? What's happened? Let me in." Nothing happened. Stepping back, Cato cracked his neck and stretched his arms, turning so his shoulder was positioned towards the door and shoulder barging the door. It shook and creaked in protest, shaking on it's hinges. Moving back and taking another shot, his arm cried out in protest but he did it again and again until the hinges finally popped and the door fell out of the frame.

Peeta turned around from the mirror, tears glittering in his eyes. He was shirtless, the button of his jeans undone and the zipper slid half down. His cane was propped up against the sink, a recently encrusted diamond glittering ontop of it. A camera was held tight in his grasp, turning his knuckles white. "I don't know how it works," he said, his voice weighted with terror and sadness. "I can't-I can't even get it to turn on."

"What in the world are you doing?" Cato asked, taking the camera from the boy's hand. "Why have you got this?"

"Snow said I had to do it because he wants to know whether he needs to hire actors or not for the explicit stuff for the gay community," Peeta replied. He blinked and a tear dripped out, sliding down his cheek and dripping onto his collar bone. Jaw clenched in anger, he quickly wiped his eyes with his fists, swearing under his breath as if crying was something wrong. "He knows you're good enough because you're a career but I'm not and you've been training all your life and I haven't and Mya gave me the camera and told me I had to take nude photos so Snow could see if he needed actors and-" He took a deep, shuddering breath-"I don't know what to do."

Rage spiking in his blood, Cato took a step towards him, but the boy stepped back almost in fear and bumped against the sink. Cato tried not to feel hurt at the boy's recoil. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he insisted. He knew why Peeta was doing this and frankly, he was ashamed that he was doing this just to save him from a hard death in the Games. "I can look after myself in the Games-"

"You can't guarantee that!" Peeta interuppted, snatching the camera back and turning back to the mirror. Then Cato remembered, the mysterious 'Mr. Woods' who was also part of the threat Mya had given. Something to do with the sex slavery business . . . oh god this was hell on fire. He reached around Peeta and took the camera back.

"When does Snow need these photos?" he asked.

"Tomorrow morning."

Fuck.

"Okay, we're going to do this as quickly as possible. I think I know how these things work from what Clove has told me about them . . ." Cato fiddled with the device for a couple of minutes, finally finding the button that switched it on and taking a trial shot of the floor. He was resisting the urge to put a hole through the wall which he was finding exceedingly difficult as every second passed. As he held the camera up, Peeta snapped his fingers. The simple click sent everything barelling down and he dumped the camera on the counter by the sink and gathered him up into his arms.

"I'm so scared," Peeta whispered into his chest.

"I know," Cato replied softly.

"I don't think I can do this."

"You don't have to."

"But I _do._" He snapped his fingers again and moaned. It sounded like he was in pain. Cato sighed and brushed his hand through Peeta's hair, mussing it up with his fingers and gently kissing the top of his head.

"No you really don't."

"Can you do it?" Peeta asked, pushing back from Cato's embrace and handing him the camera. "Tonight, when I'm asleep. I just don't think I can-can _handle_ being concious for this to be done."

"I don't know . . . wouldn't that seem perverted?" Cato asked.

Peeta blinked back several more fearful tears and swallowed hard. "I trust you."

~xXx~

It hurt Cato to know how broken Peeta's mind really was. He could practically see how it was falling to pieces bit by bit, shards of glass breaking apart and slipping away to shatter on the floor. Even when asleep, there was still something there that gave away the fragmented state of his head. He'd sat up and waited for Peeta to fall asleep, lying on his side and watching over him like a bodyguard watching over his protectee. The camera sat on the beside table and he despised the moment he had to pick it up.

Everything was so messed up. He wasn't normally one to claim injustice but this was just ridiculous. He wasn't sure where the line was and what it would take to cross it. To him, they were past the line and were looking back on it in the rear view mirror. What gave President Snow the right to do this? Just because he had power didn't mean he had to be such a horrifying sadistic bastard, abusing his power to exceeding heights, why would he want to do this to them?

_Because he can_, Cato realized with horror, causing another thought to float into his mind. Was President Snow . . . gay? Now that he thought about it, it seemed that he found more enjoment out of torturing males than he does females. Clove had said that her mother had bought a night with Finnick Odair and had the receipt commited to memory. She'd later confided in him that in the fine print, it mentioned other victors also available. Most of them were male with the exceptions of Johanna Mason from 7 and Cashmere Sardick from 1. It was strange, maybe just a concidence, but Cato didn't believe in concidences. Everything had its reasons and everything happened for a reason.

And yet, it all sort of fell into place.

Why else would their President be so focused on pleasing the gay community more than any other section of the Capitol? Unless he got something out of it as well . . . This was beginning to become _very_ sick indeed. Was this Snow's plan? Oh goodness this was wrong. So, so wrong.

Cato eased out bed, careful not to disturb Peeta's sleeping, and slipped out of the room. He went out into the living room and found Mya sitting on the sofa, legs crossed and head cocked to one side, as if she had been waiting on him. A pillow rested in the space between her legs, a white board sitting onto of it. Her pale hand held a green marker over the board, the tip of the ink hovering over the shiny board.

"Mya," Cato said curtly, deciding not to blow his steam just yet.

The pen squeaked as she wrote her reply. _"Hello Mr. Hadley, how are you this glorious night?"_

"Cut the bullshit, I know what your game is," he snapped. "What is the deal with Snow and his fascination in our relationship? And not just the relationship it seems, more of the physical aspect of it."

Mya laughed. Cato cringed at the noise, it was horribly unattractive. She wrote again, deliberately pressing the ink into the board to make the squeaking louder than before. _"Do you really need to ask, or do you already have the answers?"_ she asked. Cato narrowed his eyes at her in wonder. Was she being serious? The woman smirked. _"Ah, so you do know the answer. Normally if someone found out the truth of the president he'd have them killed on the spot but that cannot be done with you Mr. Hadley, since you are a tribute. I guess we'll have to just wait and see, won't we?"_

"What if I blab?" Cato challenged.

_"And risk being murdered brutally in the games? That's really something you'd risk?"_ Mya asked back.

"If it stopped you forcing Peeta to jump through hoops like some showdog that you can put on display and parade around then yes," Cato replied. "I don't care what you do to me, just leave him alone."

Mya's eyes glittered. For someone without a tongue, the woman found it very easy to display her emotions through her eyes. The green orbs reflected mischief back at him. She wrote very slowly this time, taking her time as she rubbed the board down with her sleeve and carefully wrote each word down with percision. When she held it up, Cato didn't even need to squint to read the massive words on the board.

_"Do you know of Mr. Woods, Cato?"_

"No," Cato immediately replied. "No, I don't."

_"Mr. Woods was a boy who'd been aware of his sexuality ever since he'd been yay-big."_ She held her hand up to the height of her thigh. _"Which isn't a bad thing, of course it isn't. He dated boys when he was your age but soon he grew up without finding someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. And once he'd reached his early thirties, he realized that he was still only attracted to those of a younger age." _Mya wiped the board._ "Of course, this was classified as pedaphilla and he became a very lonely person. That is, until he found me."_

"What do you mean 'until he found me'?" Cato asked.

Mya shrugged indifferently. _"Business is business. I'm not one to turn down such an offer for such an astounding amount of money. My job was simple: find Woods a teenage boy to love. By now I think you can guess that his sexual frustration was going through the roof and he was willing to pay me anything, so I took him on. And then Mrs Mellark came to us."_

"Peeta's mom?"

_"Ah, not just a pretty face are we?"_ Mya smirked as she wrote. _"Yes, Mr. Mellark's mother. She came to me and told me that she had a son. A useless son. A son she had no use for. A good for nothing boy she was needing rid of. We struck up a deal and I told her to send him off on an errand in the dark, and I told Mort to kidnap him."_

"Mort?"

_"My partner,"_ Mya clarified. _"The boy was just what we needed for Mr. Woods. Young, blond, with the most amazing blue eyes I'd ever seen. It's such a shame he was so inexperienced. Still, that was easy enough fixed. I raised him over that week, drugging him to into a state of incohearancey. Oh the things Mort and I would do to that boy to train him would drive you insane. Oh, look, the fists are already clenching."_

She was right, Cato's hands were clenched into tight fists, shaking with the resistance of trying not to punch her in the mouth. "Okay, I think I've gotten the point-"

_"Not finished," _Mya said. Cato could almost hear the snap in her voice. _"Mr. Woods loved your little 12 boy. We showed him off one night when he was passed out. Woods loved him sooooo much, him and his hair and his body and definitely his youth-"_

"Shut up before I punch you in the neck!" Cato snapped. Mya grinned, the curl up of her lip looking evil, making her seem like a villian from a super hero movie. "I get who this Woods man is, alright?! He's a physchotic pervert who likes blond boys, just shut up before I do something I'll regret!"

_"What would you do Cato, huh? Punch me to a bloody pulp? Tear me apart? Risk getting sent home just because we're hurting your poor ickle boyfriend?"_ Mya teased.

Cato gritted his teeth and glared at her, almost hurting himself as he tried to fight his concious which was telling him to screw Mya and just punch her so hard her teeth would have to be removed from the lining of her throat.

_"I never thought you'd be a pussy as well Hadley,"_ Mya taunted._ "Can't you just take the photos of him yourself? I'd have thought you'd be dying to see him naked, since he's such a prude when it comes to his body and such."_

"Because of what _you_ did to him," Cato hissed.

_"Don't be ridiculous, he can't remember what Mort and I did to him,"_ she replied._ "We made sure he was hocked up on those nasty drugs to keep him from protesting and struggling. It affected the memory membrane the worst, that's why he was convinced I was really his Aunt for so long. I was his Auntie Mya for those 7 days. I actually miss him as my nephew, I must say."_

"You're sick," Cato said, revolted. "Can't remember, huh? You're full of crap, Mya. He has nightmares. Of you, of that goddamn basement of yours, of your stupid partner and all the things you did to him. Thankfully, a lot of it escapes him once he wakes up but that's not the point. It's _your_ fault he has to go through it all."

_"What I did to him?"_ Mya wrote._ "That's not even the half of it."_

~xXx~

_**A couple of hours later:**_

The photos were beautiful. Of course they were. He was perfect in every aspect. And yet each shot was still tainted with the awful truth of what they were being used for. Cato had them upturned on the bedside table, unable to look at them for more than a couple of seconds. He'd immediately tucked Peeta up in the quilt to hide his decency. He would have put his clothes back on for him but wasn't able to bring himself to do something so intimate without his permission.

Cato couldn't sleep. He wasn't tired at all. Instead he found himself wrapping his arms around Peeta's quilt covered form and holding him close to his side. The sleeping boy welcomed his embrace greatfully, snuggling his face against the career's side and sighing peacefully. Cato smiled and stroked his hair, content with just watching him sleep.

Mya was a second away from getting murdered. Cato had been ready to march over to her and snap her neck in two when Enobaria had came in and ordered her to go and get her some hot milk because she couldn't sleep. When the red headed woman vanished, Cato returned to the bedroom and reluctantly took the photos like Peeta had asked him to. The room's window was open and the night breeze was freezing the room. Cato wanted to close it but he didn't know if it was some physchological routine that Peeta had to keep to to keep his mind sound, so he didn't close it.

But the said boy was trembling in his sleep under the blankets, very likely because of the open window, but instead of breaking the routine and shutting the window, Cato sat up and pulled his shirt up over his head and wrapped it around the quilt around Peeta's arms and torso. The chill bit his skin but the colour that returned to his partner's cheeks at the extra warmth was comfort enough.

Rain had began to batter the open window, splattering the window sill, and Cato remembered a song his mother used to sing to him when he was a little boy, when Kayla was still only a baby. When he was young, he hated storms because of the way the massive oaktree that stood by his bedroom brushed his window and made ominous scraping noises in the darkness. He'd cry and his mother would come in and sing him back to sleep. It was a beautiful song, he supposed as a child. He grew up loving it and when his mother started taking late night shifts at Career Training when Kayla was five, he would hum the same tune to her when she began to experience the same fears as he had. He'd never really considered how corrupt the song really was.

_Little child, be not afraid, though rain pounds harshly against the glass, like an unwanted stranger, there is no danger, I am here tonight._

_Little child, be not afraid, though thunder explodes and lightning flash, illuminates your tear-stained face, I am here tonight._

_And someday you'll know, that nature is so, the same rain that draws you near me, falls on rivers and land, on forests and sand, makes the beautiful world that you'll see, in the morning._

The lyrics were corrupt. Even if they had been written hundreds of years ago by some woman called Vienna Teng, they were corrupt.

In a world where a larger and dominant Government steal away children of a variety of ages, they tell babies at their bedsides that there is no danger, no reason to be scared of anything? That the rain and the gales and the screeching forces of nature will make a beautiful world in the morning? That you'll wake up and everything will be fine and nothing will be wrong? That the land and world around you will be magnificent and perfect and glorious even though, someday, there would always be the impending threat of being reaped into someone else's bloody Game where the reward once you win is the purchase of your soul?

But even so, the song had comforted him. Made him feel safe when the wind was causing the oak tree to batter his bedroom window. It comforted Kayla, too. It stopped her crying and helped her sleep. It was a mutual link between them that was actually not the want they both had to be reaped into the Games that they didn't realize was the complete oppisotion to the song that they loved.

Cato found himself humming the sound absent-mindedly as he sat on the bed, wondering what his little sister was doing right now at home with his parents . . .

Had the news of the 'Peetato' scandal reached the Districts yet? Had they heard it? Or was their knowledge of what was happening in the Capitol limited to the usual facts that the tributes were training and were going to be heading into their private sessions in the morning? Was Kayla still training herself? Or were one of the alters holding the reigns at the moment? He wondered who it was: Jamie, Beth, or Jack? What he'd give right now to hear Jamie correct his grammer at very spare interval, to listen to Beth raving about Animal Rights when she'd catch him eating a hamburger, and Jack with his witty remarks and snarky comments . . . but most of all he missed Kayla and her perfectly natural essence of teenage hood.

He wondered what would happen if he didn't make it out of the Games. He'd been confident ever since he was ten that he'd enter the Hunger Games and win it with ease, living out the rest of his life in the lap of luxury. Now, his confidence was beginning to dissapate. And it wasn't for any particular reason other than the fact that reality was hitting him harder than it had ever done before. That there _was_ going to be twenty three other tributes in there and he was but one person.

And yet, now that he had made this discovery, he had someone he had to come home for.

Sure, if he'd died, Kayla would grieve with his parents but in the end, she'd be forced to get on with life. She'd grow up, meet someone, and have a family . . . she'd become the best person she could be, like Cato trusted her to do. He had never worried about her life being affected if he died. He hadn't even worried about his partner's life being affected prior to the choosing cermony. Then again, everything changed after the choosing cermony anyway . . .

Because of the blond boy currently shivering in his arms.

At the beginning, Cato believed that Peeta was just a pretty face. Someone who was just so purely and unintentionally perfect that they didn't even realize they were beautiful. And that was exactly what he had thought he had wanted. He'd never expected to become so attatched. To care so much about the baker's past and how traumatic it really was. He didn't expect to want to be careful around him, to make sure he was comfortable and alright and not at all at ill-ease.

And yet here he was, unable to sleep because of the atrocious things Mya was putting Peeta worst of it was, a lot of it was dreadfully unnessecary. Cato knew, from his wandering eyes sydrome, (something he took very seriously as a proper medical condition) exactly how his partner looked-body and face-without even needing to take the boy's clothes off. No, Snow was definitely up to something. Something that he knew was going to break Peeta's mind.

Cato worried about how soon that goal may be acomplished.

_Well now I am grown, and these years have shown, that rain's a part of how life goes, but it's dark and it's late, so I'll hold you and wait, 'til your frightened eyes do close and I hope that you'll know . . ._

Finally reaching a point of exhaustion, Cato gently rested his head against the top of Peeta's and let his eyes droop closed. Even in sleep, he was still somehow aware of the presence of him in his arms, wrapped up in the quilt and his shirt. There was always a small part of him, at the back of his mind that would always be receptive to the fact that he was there, and he was safe, and he was in his arms.

And if he ever left his hold, he'd do whatever means nessecary to get him back.

_Everything's fine in the morning, the rain'll be gone in the morning, but I'll still be here in the morning . . ._

_**A/N: I don't know why, but I love that lullaby so much. If you want to hear it properly, here's the link:**_

_** www. youtube watch ? v = mlmh _ luX8 (with no spaces).**_

_**Preview: Chapter Thirteen:**_

_**The dream had been hot. Steamy even, and had left him incredibly aroused as he stared across the breakfast table at the olbivious boy who mindlessly stirred his hot chocolate while staring off into space. Even when doing the simplest of tasks, he was so beautifully attractive that it made his heart ache and other areas of his atamony respond in a way that made it hard to look into his deep blue eyes without feeling guilty.**_

_**Please R&R! :D**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: Hello faithful readers! I'd like to thank you all for your wonderful reviews and support! Here is chapter thirteen my friends, I hope you enjoy it!**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**_

Chapter Thirteen

Peeta woke up slowly, a painful stab digging into the back of his head like a chisel being racked into his skull with a mallot. Sleep glued his eyes shut and he had to flutter them to detangle his eyelashes from each other. He was wrapped up tightly in the duvet, something warm pressing into his side. It felt comfortable, so comfortable that he didn't want to move. The warmth shifted though, gently moving away. He groaned in protest, trying to shift closer to it, not wanting it to go.

"Sssh, it's only me," a soft voice whispered. Cato. "I have to go for training. I'll give Mya the photos so don't worry about that, okay?" Still stuck in the world between sleep and being awake, Peeta nodded, shutting his eyes completely again. Cato pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and mumbled, "Your pyjamas are at the bottom of the bed."

When he moved completely away, Peeta felt cold, like a part of him was missing. "Do you have to go?" he muttered, surprising himself at how needy he sounded.

Cato chuckled softly. "The private sessions are today and Clove and I are one of the first people to go in, after District 1," he explained in a hushed voice, as if the calm silence that hung around them would snap if he spoke in a regular tone. "So we'll be back early, I promise." He softly stroked his hair, the gesture becoming shockingly familiar, and pressed another kiss to his forehead.

"Okay," Peeta mumbled, turning his face into the pillow and already feeling himself drifting off to sleep again.

"Hey," Cato whispered, scruffing the curls at the nape of his neck to keep him from falling back to sleep on him, "it's raining pretty bad outside, do you want me to close the window?"

Peeta frowned, twisting around so he lay on his back, and turned his head to face the career. "What?" he asked sleepily.

"There's a storm outside," Cato explained, grazing his knuckles down the younger blond's cheek, "and I was wondering if I should close the window because it's getting pretty cold."

For as long as he could remember, Peeta had always slept with the window open. Ever since he used to crawl out onto the window ledge at the back of the bakery when he was a little kid when his mom was angry at him, it had always felt like an escape. Like there was always a way out. But as he looked at the small open window in their bedroom, the rain battering through and splattering the window sill and soaking spots into the carpet, he realized maybe an open window was never going to be escape enough.

"The sill is soaked," he said, his voice still groggy. "Why didn't you just close it?"

Cato shrugged. "I thought it might trigger something," he replied. "I wasn't sure."

Touched, Peeta smiled. "You can close it," he said, his eyes already drooping shut again. "I'll be fine."

"Okay," he said. "I'll be back soon, I promise."

He placed a chaste kiss on the tired boy's lips before getting up, shutting the window, and heading out. Peeta immediately sat up, holding the duvet close to his body and reaching to the bottom of the bed to retrieve his pyjamas. He was thankful that Cato had done that for him. Having taken the photos. Because there would have been no way he would have been able to do it on his own.

After tomorrow was the tribute interviews which would then be followed by the tributes entering the Games. He was currently terrified of what would happen when Cato was no longer there to fight for him, instead being who knows how far away, fighting for his life.

He'd be on his own and who knows what would happen then.

Once redressed, he lay back down and threw the duvet back over his body, burying his face into the pillow and trying to forget it all as he drifted back off to sleep, all prepared to dream of a better life where none of this was happening and everything was perfect . . .

The sort of life everyone knows doesn't exist.

~xXx~

When Cato returned from his private session with the Gamemakers, he found Peeta still in bed, curled up in a fetal ball swathed in the duvet and the blanket from the living room. The younger boy softly snored, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. Cato smiled and detatched his sword seath from his belt.

The private session went okay. He didn't really do anything special. Just stabbed a bunch of dummies and threw some weights around until they told him he could go. His dad had warned him that that might happen. Even if the sessions were private, most career parents had a good idea about what happened behind those doors. They never really explained how they knew, it was just a thing they had always been informed on without explanation. And apparently the gamemakers didn't give a damn about what the tributes did. They'd rather eat and chat and be lazy because that was just the sort of people they were.

Cato wondered what time it was as he sat down on his side of the bed and ran his hand over Peeta's hair absent mindedly. The private sessions had been after lunch so . . . it was well over two in the afternoon. He wondered what was keeping his partner asleep so long into the day. He contemplated waking him up but once he hooked his finger into the top of the duvet and pulled it down to peek at Peeta's face, he looked so calm and peaceful that Cato couldn't help but smile at him. Not wanting to disturb him, he carefully slid under the quilt and closed his eyes, exhausted from training.

_**Dream Sequence:**_

There was steam everywhere. Clouding around the floor of the bathroom, curling tendrils that seemed to reach out and try to grab you. It was sweltering. Cato could feel beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face and chest. From shifting slightly he could tell that the floor was wet, the water swishing around his ankles like a mini-pool.

Of course, Cato wasn't concentrating too hard on any of this anyway.

Because there was someone else there.

When he took one step forward, the foggy steam parted as if clearing the way for him. A form came into view, a body leaning up against a glass wall, lounging happily while watching him approach. The first thing that came into view was the blue eyes, lighting through the fog like a lighthouse in the darkness. One more step and the person's identity became clear, because he couldn't mistake him for anyone else in the world.

_"You wanted a virgin Cato, huh?"_ Peeta teased in a voice that was his but wasn't.

His eyes flashed with mirth, a sly smile curling devishly into the corner of his mouth. He was shirtless, a sheen of glittering sweat covering his body and causing the jeans he was wearing to stick to his form like a second skin. Blood rushing south without much thought and heart pounding in exhiliration, Cato mutely nodded.

_"Because you wanted me allllll to yourself, didn't you?"_ The heat was causing the curls at the nape of his neck to stick to skin and all Cato could think about was brushing the hair out of the way and biting the deliciously exposed skin there. Again, he nodded to the question.

Smile growing wider, looking more devious by the second, Peeta closed his eyes and pressed back against the wall, hands pressing into the fogged up glass to leave handprints there later. He whispered, _"Then take me."_

Now, this should have opened up a lot of questions: why was he acting like this? Was he suddenly cured of his mental inability? etc. etc. but Cato's mind was too lost in a cloud of lust to question anything. Seeing the boy he'd been wanting, craving, _needing_ offer himself up so simply made all sense and reason fly out the window. Along with what was right and wrong.

He barely even remembered moving. All he knew was that now he was close and all he had to do was reach out and hook his arm around Peeta's waist and the boy came to him, pressing his body up against his own. He greedily claimed the lips first, moving fiercely against the surprisingly experienced ones, nipping and biting and licking. Arms enclosed his neck, pulling him closer, asking for more, always more.

Lips descending from the mouth and kissing along his cheek and down his neck, Cato couldn't help but notice that the boy didn't have a taste. There was . . . nothing on the tip of his tongue, no hint of natural taste, of the sweat he could clearly feel under his hands. Nothing but . . . well, nothing. Of course, this was in and out of his head in a flash, only a momentary concern before he finding purchase on Peeta's collar bone and the sound that erupted for the boy was even more arousing that than the sight of him had been.

One hand pressed between Peeta's shoulder blades to hold him close, Cato slid his other hand down the curve of his back, resting his palm over his ass and pushing their hips together. Stars exploded behind his eyes at the eurphoic feeling it caused and Peeta moaned again, grabbing fistfulls of his hair and tugging hard.

That was when the letters began to carve out.

Cato had only closed his eyes for a second. But that second grew longer as the letters scratched out behind his eyelids like chalk screeching into a black board. He recognized the handwriting, the writing style, the taint of taunt.

_We'll always be watching you. Always going to be there. I'm always going to be his Auntie Mya and there's nothing you can do about it_

_Always._

_And nothing at all._

~xXx~

Cato jerked awake very suddenly. It was dark and the room was stuffy. There was some sort of weight ontop of him and when he looked down he realized that Peeta had moved in his sleep and was lying half-on, half off him. He could feel the boy's heart beating quickly against his, which was also pumping fast itself, after such an exhilierating dream.

Until the end, that is.

But even after just looking at the sleeping boy ontop of him he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. The innocence that radiated off Peeta poisoned him. In a good way, Cato supposed. It was such purity that changed him from the date-today-gone-tomorrow career that he was pre-choosing ceremony to the person he was today. Someone who wanted to care for the people he loved and keep them safe.

Peeta's arms tightened around him and he groaned. Cato watched with concern as his face screwed up in somewhat pain. "No, please, stop," he muttered. "No Auntie Mya, I don't want to."

"Peeta," Cato whispered, shaking his shoulder.

The younger curled in on himself, a soft whimper escaping him. "I'm sorry Auntie Mya, I didn't mean it. I just, I c-can't-" His voice cracked half way through the sentence, his eyes squeezed shut so tight it looked painful. "No, please, I'm sorry, Mya, no, oh god, please, no don't-"

"Peeta! Wake up, you're dreaming," Cato pushed up into an upright position and held Peeta close to his chest. The boy was shaking his head, as if protesting to what he was telling him to do, when in fact he was actually still trapped in one of his Mya induced nightmares. "Peeta, baby, wake up, please." He supported the back of the sleeping boy's head with his hand, holding his head against his shoulder. "Sssh, come on, wake up."

Peeta's eyes snapped open and he screamed, thrashing in Cato's arms, still stuck half way in the dream and half way out.

"It's me, Peeta! It's me, Cato!" He yelped as Peeta pounded him with his fists. Of course, he wasn't as strong as he was and was still groggy so that the hits weren't that hard or painful. And yet, each one was like a punch in the heart, because Cato knew how terrified he was.

"I'm sorry Mya, alright?!" Peeta screeched in response. His eyes were still shut, his refusal to open them making it all the harder to convince him that everything was fine. Having no other choice, Cato seized both his wrists so that they were pressed together, and swung around to pin him back against the mattress. Peeta cried out in fear, burning tears streaking down his face.

"Calm down," Cato pleaded softly, holding his weight on his knees so that Peeta didn't feel trapped against the bed. "It's me, I'm not going to hurt you."

Peeta's face screwed up even more, a guttral groan escaping his parted lips. His hands clenched into fists in Cato's grip, entire body trembling underneath him. "Cato?" he gasped, his shoulders jerking as he took a giant, shuddering breath.

"Yes, baby, it's me, it's alright," Cato soothed, kissing his shaking fists. "I'm here, you're fine. Mya isn't here. I'm not going to hurt you."

Peeta burst into tears. His arms started to tremble violently as he tried to stop, panting horribly as his emotions wouldn't let him quit, still trapped in an inbetween world between the horrfic dreamlike land that wasn't real any more and the real reality which, honestly, wasn't any better. Cato's heart thumped in his chest as he didn't know what to do, didn't know how to stop it. He'd never been a comforter, the only times ever being when Kayla cried because of the storms.

"I am so sorry!" he sobbed. "I didn't mean to wake you up! I-I'm, I just, I can't-" He gasped, sucking in a sharp breath.

"Sssh, ssh, calm down, it's alright," Cato said, releasing Peeta's wrists and tenderly stroking his hair. "You're safe, Mya isn't here and no one's going to hurt you." At the mention of her name, Peeta's breathing quickened, breaths getting shorter and more raspy.

Cato was never one for crying, never had been. The last time he'd cried was when Kayla had fell down the stairs when she was only ten and he thought she was going to die. After that, he had begun to work on his hard exterior. The facade that he had built up making it easy to _not_ cry. But seeing Peeta so upset and scared had him terrified as well, as to what to do. It made him want to cry himself because he felt so helpless as the boy took a full on panic attack. What had he done when he was on his own back home? When he had no one to pin him to the bed and prevent him from hurting himself?

Eventually, he did calm down. But by that point, he'd lost all his energy and had just went slack, resdiual tears still sliding down his cheeks.

"You okay now?" Cato asked gently, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

He didn't respond immediately. Instead he just lay there, staring at him, taking a moment to bite back the tears that were continueing to well up in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he finally murmered. "For waking you."

"Don't be stupid," Cato replied. "You didn't even wake me. I was up a bit before. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

The answer was short. Immediate. At the beginning, back when he'd first chosen him, Cato would have let it go, left it alone. But as time had past he'd learnt that leaving it alone was never a good thing. Because if not let out it would continue to bubble up inside, growing and expanding until there was nothing left of your soul but pain and despair and the dread to continue on living. You'd be stuck with the reluctance to get out of bed in the morning because all you would feel is heartache and hurt. Not that talking about your problems prevents all this but it eases the burden slightly, hopefully like a weight off your shoulders.

So he didn't leave it alone.

"Please tell me," he said softly. Blue eyes sparkling with tears locked with his, glittering like the sun on the sea.

"I can't talk about it. It'd be like reliving it."

"It's not healthy to keep it to yourself, you know."

Peeta narrowed his eyes and a frown settled onto his face. Face still streaked with tears and hair mussed from sleep, Cato tried not to concentrate on the fact of how unbelieveably cute he looked at that very moment and more on the point at hand. "Why do you care?" he asked, his voice small and feeble.

"Because I'm your partner and I chose you," Cato answered. The three little words that caused either pain or happiness was on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed them back down. Too early to start annoucing stuff like that willy nilly. And now was definitely not the time or the place to get into it.

Confliction flashed in Peeta's eyes and he didn't respond for a long time. Cato grew worried that something was seriously wrong but when he finally spoke again, he found himself surprised by what he said. "I don't want to talk about it because I don't know how to interuppt it."

Climbing off him and sitting down by his side on the bed, Cato glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Five o'clock. Why was it so dark? It was summer, not winter. Maybe it was the other way around in the Capitol? Early nights in the summer and bright all winter? That didn't sound right and Cato dismissed the idea immediately.

"Maybe I can help," he suggested.

Peeta sat up against the headboard, wincing from the stiffness in his limbs causing pain in his injured leg. Sometimes Cato wished he could take the pain away. Maybe even take it from him and give it to himself instead. There was another long pause before either spoke again. And when they did, it was Peeta who spoke.

"It was about the scar on the back of my calf," he said reluctantly.

Cato remembered that scar well. When he'd woken up the morning after his friend Rhona's Reaping party to find his partner sleeping ontop of the bed covers in the clothes from the previous night, he had decided to get him into bed properly. Which meant, envitabley, taking off his clothes. After discovering the beauty mark on Peeta's back, he'd found the small scar. It was small, the size of an injection site, and was barely visible. He'd always wondered how he'd gotten a scar so small in such a strange place.

"What happened?" he asked tentatively.

Peeta shook his head. "I can't remember much . . . I didn't do something, I think, that Auntie Mya-"

"She's not your Auntie," Cato said firmly. Shaking his head again, Peeta held up a hand and squeezed his eyes shut, taking a moment to recollect himself.

"I know," he replied. "Sometimes I just forget. Anyway, I think I didn't do something she wanted me to and she gave me something as punishment . . . I don't know what but I remember feeling the pain exploding very suddenly and hearing Mya's laughter, clear as day in the background . . ."

"I've heard her laugh," Cato cringed. "It ain't no picnic."

"No, this is before she lost her tongue . . . she used to find it all so damn funny I can't remember a time where she _wouldn't_ laugh at me." Cato could see Peeta's hand shaking as he resisted the urge to snap his fingers. He began to wonder if he'd ever spoken to anyone about this before without snapping to forget it all. "She had the laugh of a madwoman."

"Sounds like her," muttered Cato. "So, what do you think she . . . did to create the scar?"

Peeta shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Most of it's gone."

"A drug maybe? You mentioned that she drugged you a lot?"

"No," Peeta answered. "The drugs she gave me were either consumed or put into my arm." He pulled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a small patch of skin that was much paler than the rest, in the shape of a jagged lightening bolt. The remainants of various injection sites. "I may have been drugged to forget what happened while doped up but not doped up enough to forget being drugged." He looked so sad, staring at his fidgeting hands and stealing glances at him every now and then. He looked like an injured bunny.

Cato placed a hand on Peeta's knee, and the boy's eyes flickered to it apprehensively. "You know she can't hurt you any more, right?" he asked gently.

"Yes, she can." Noticing the career's confused expression, Peeta elaborated. "As long as she can send messages through Snow about what I have to do for the courtesy of the Capitol, she will always be hurting me."

~xXx~

_**The next day:**_

A ten . . . that wasn't so bad, right?

Most careers only get eights and nines but a ten was . . . rare. Clove got the same, which was good, but the one thing that shocked the hell out of them all was 12's _eleven._ Peeta's Judas friend had gotten an eleven. How could _she_ have beaten all the careers, in this year's Games and past? Peeta himself had just sat there on the sofa as if he'd been expecting it all along, showing no awe or shock on his face what-so-ever. After their chat in the bedroom, serenity have become the boy's new best friend.

Now they sat at the breakfast table and Cato couldn't keep his mind off what had to be the most irrevelvant thing to be thinking about at a time like this one:

The dream had been hot. Steamy even, and had left him incredibly aroused as he stared across the breakfast table at the olbivious boy who mindlessly stirred his hot chocolate while staring off into space. Even when doing the simplest of tasks, he was so beautifully attractive that it made his heart ache and other areas of his atamony respond in a way that made it hard to look into his deep blue eyes without feeling guilty.

Immediately after having woken up, Cato had had to deal with Peeta's nightmare panic attack which had increased the culpable for how horrible he really was. How could such a dream have came to him during all this? With the knowledge of what he had went through the previous year and yet still make him conjure up a wet dream about him? Not just a wet dream, he thought, a wet dream that he had gotten _aroused _by.

Cato felt like a horrible person.

"An eleven," Clove said, breaking the silence and snapping Cato out of his trance. His district partner was sitting at the table, feet kicked up and chair reclining percauiously on the back legs. "A girl from twelve . . . getting an eleven . . ." Her voice reeked of concentration as her eyes screwed up in deep thought. Ever since the previous night she'd been trying to distinguish how a girl from 12 could get a score of eleven.

"Maybe she's been hiding something?" Cato suggested, glad to have something to talk about and to keep his mind off the realization of what a abhorrent person he was. "Maybe she's had a stragety since day one and has been tricking us all?"

Clove shrugged. "Maybe," she conceeded. "But are people from 12 really that smart?"

"Their mentor is Haymitch Abernathy," Enobaria said. Herself and Brutus sat at the other end of the table, both inexplicably quiet and deadly serious. Cato guessed they weren't too happy about their tributes getting out scored by a girl from the outlying district.

"The drunk?" Clove asked, her voice tinged with surprise.

Enobaria nodded. "The man's smart. Alcoholic or not, he beat the Games just as well as the rest of us. No, Haymitch always has something up his sleeve, the wise old bastard. If there's any reason as to why this girl got an eleven, I'd bet my teeth it was something to do with Abernathy."

Wow, not often Enobaria bet her teeth.

"You know her, don't you Peeta?" Clove asked out of the blue.

Peeta, who had still been staring into space, blinked as if being awoken from a dream and turned to look at Clove quizzically. "What?" he asked.

"Katnip. From 12? You know her, how do you think she got the eleven?"

Cato frowned, unsure of how Clove knew this. "How did you know that?" he asked her.

Clove blinked at him as if wondering if he was serious or not, hazel eyes glittering under the artifical Capitol light bulb. "He looked at her before the tribute parade," she said. "They had this weird eye connecting moment." She turned back to Peeta. "If you weren't on the other boat I'd have thought you were in love with her."

The unmistakeable red tint flared up in Peeta's cheeks and he ducked his head, pretending to take a sip of the hot chocolate. He'd never openly admitted that he was gay, and Cato had never assumed that he was, but he'd always judged the boy's sexual oreintation by the way he responded to his kiss that second night in 2. Still, his obvious abashment never failed to be cute at the best of times.

After a considerably long time hiding behind the metal mug, Peeta answered Clove's question. "Yes, I know her. She was a friend of mine. Her name's Katniss, not Katnip. I . . . didn't know her well enough though to know what she had done to get an eleven."

_Lies._

Freeze-framed right there in the lie, Cato could see it. The signs of a smooth liar. Unbroken eye contact through the entirety of the lie, a twitch in the left eyebrow that was barely noticable and, the icing on the cake, the nervous glance taken towards him after the lie was said, as if checking if he'd noticed him lying or not. Which he had.

"Well then we're fucked," Clove said bluntly. "We'll just have to wait until the Games to see what she has up her sleeve."

That day was supposed to be for mentors to train their tributes for their interviews that night but both Enobaria and Brutus weren't really the mentoring type and just left Cato and Clove to their own devices until the prep teams arrived to pretty them up again for live t.v.

The three teens sat in an organized line on the couch after breakfast, Clove sitting inbetween Cato and Peeta. They didn't know what to say or do as most of their time had been taken up with the training center most days and they hadn't really had so much free time before. Clove had enquired from Peeta what _he_ did all day but he just shrugged in response and said that he didn't really do anything at all.

"When did that happen?" Clove asked, breaking the silence. Cato looked at her in question to see her pointing at the diamond still encrusted on the top of Peeta's cane. Now that he got a proper look at it, it _wasn't_ Peeta's cane at all. Well, it wasn't the cane he'd came from 12 with anyway. This one was sleeker, shiny, the jewel on top glittering and occasionally hitting the light to expose a burst of iridescence. It looked more like an accessory than a nessicity.

"They exchanged my old one for this," Peeta explained, pulling a face. "I hate it, like they think they can make something as stupid as a cane pretty, what's even the point?"

Clove shrugged and rested her cheek on her hand, propping her elbow against her knee. "It's the Capitol babycakes," she said dully. "It's a whole other world."

"And yet there's people out there who go on believeing that this is how the world is," Cato said, eyes locked on the diamond ontop of the cane. "They think that _we're_ the weird ones for our ways of life and our hatred of what they'd call 'pretty things'. I bet they'd have a seizure if the wooden stick you called your cane hadn't of been fixed for them."

"Or at the very least cried out at the horrid artrocity," Clove replied. "Fucking weirdos."

"What do crippled people do if they're chosen for the Games?" Peeta wondered aloud. "You can't bring in weapons and you could very easily beat someone senseless with a crutch or a walking stick . . . would they force you in without it?"

Cato pondered it. It was plausiable. Weapons weren't allowed in the Games and he could see what Peeta meant about being able to cause damage with them . . .

"I suppose they would take them off you before you went in. If in a forest you could fashion a stick into a cane I guess but it wouldn't be ideal," Clove answered.

"Good thing he's not going into the Games then, isn't it?" Cato said sharply. He didn't like the talk of Peeta being in the Hunger Games, helpless without his cane and unable to walk. It made his gut churn at the very thought. Clove threw a confused look at him. A look that read, _'What the fuck Hadley, we were just discussing it!'_ Before he could explain his actions, a familar flare of red hair entered the room, and Mya stopped right in front of the sofa.

Cato's concious told him to grab Peeta's hand for reassurance but with Clove inbetween them it was almost impossible. But he was greatly astonished when Clove scooted closer to Peeta herself and wrapped an arm around his shoulders like they were long lost pals. "What do you want, red?" she sneered at her.

Mya, not shocked at all by Clove's attitude towards her, took out the all too familar white board. She was mixing it up this time though by using a blue marker that was dark in contrast to the white sheen of the board. _"Hello Miss Jettison, I trust you slept well. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like a word alone with the love birds, yes?"_

"No," Clove said firmly.

Cato's heart did a mini-flip. Defiance was good in some cases but there was a niggling feeling at the back of his mind that said that defying Mya was like defying Snow himself. "Clove, go, it'll be fine," he found himself saying.

Clove scoffed. "Uh-huh, whatever Hadley. It's not you I'm worried about though."

"I-I'm okay t-too, you know, C-Clove," Peeta managed to say, his eyes locked nervously on Mya.

"I'll go when you can say that without stuttering, Peet," replied Clove, her tone terse and unmoving, kind of like her position right that second.

_"Don't you know when you're not wanted, girlie?"_ Mya wrote.

"Shut up Mya!" Cato snapped. He looked at Clove pleadingly. "Please Clove, go. We need to talk to her alone." He spared a nervous look at Peeta's profile as he stared at the avox in front of them. "We'll be fine."

Knowing that she was fighting a losing battle, Clove rose to her feet slowly, begrudging them every move. Moving swiftly, she stood up onto the coffee table so she towered over Mya intimidatingly. "Know this you red-headed piece of shit," she hissed at her. "Cato's like a brother to me and if you do anything to hurt him or the boy he loves, I will go into your room some night, slice open your stomach and strangle you with your own instestines, do you understand me?"

Thick silence.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?" Clove roared.

Mya sighed, her face devoid of emotion, as she wrote down her response. _"Crystal."_

"Good." Clove then stalked away, hands stuffed into her pockets, not a care in the world that she had just made a promise to mutilate an already mutilated person. That was totally Clove, Cato supposed, bold as brass and not giving two damns about what she said or did. She was indeed like a sister to him as he was a brother to her, and he was glad to have her around.

Turning his attention back to Mya, he gave the woman a withering look. "What do you want?" he asked. He moved over closer to Peeta and took his hand in his own. "Were the pictures not enough or something because I'm not taking any more, you know."

_"The photos were . . . statisfactory. Mr. Mellark is in peak enough condition for us to get some form of publicity out of him for the rainbow community, as I like to call it."_

Publicity that they needed naked photos to check if he'd be right for . . . that wasn't reassuring at all. Peeta's hand spasmed in his and he squeezed it gently, trying to tell him it was all going to be okay even though even he wasn't sure about that anymore. They both stared at her with hatred, waiting for her to continue because with Mya, that was never just _it._

_"Next job Auntie Mya? Oh yes boys! I _adore_ your enthusiasm!"_ Mya wrote, the dry and sarcastic tint evident. _"Lucky for you there's only one more thing that the Peetato couple have to do before the Games. Before lover boy has to take up the ranks on his own."_

Peeta tensed up in silent fear and Cato inched closer to him, knowing that any reassurance would fall upon dead ears by this point. Who knows what Snow has planned for him when he's gone and no longer able to help him. "What is it we have to do?" he asked regardless.

Mya smirked._ "Only one thing, dearie. Although, this one thing will be the hardest thing."_

"Quit with the riddles, Mya, just tell us what it is!" Cato demanded.

The woman turned her eyes to Peeta, an expression of cruel amusement on her face. Whatever it was she was about to write, it was something she had been waiting to say, something she had been dying to happen to him ever since her tongue had been cut out because of Peeta's father's reporting him missing. And if it was something Mya had been waiting on and was enjoying telling them about . . . well, it couldn't be good, could it?

Cato watched the pen as it swooped across the board, as she tried to make her handwriting as big as possible. And, when she turned it around, the words were like a punch to his gut, throwing him off kilter and chucking his world upside down.

_"Peeta must lose his virginity."_

_**A/N: duh, Duh, DUH!**_

_**Diolch i chi am ddarllen fy ffrindiau! Eisteddwch yn dynn ar gyfer y bennod nesaf!**_

_**Please R&R with your thoughts! :D**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**A/N: Hello all! Sorry for the delay, my broadband is a bitch :/**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**_

Chapter Fourteen

_"What?"_ Mya wrote, taking in the horrified expressions before her. _"You couldn't have honestly believed this wasn't coming, could you? Of course, it isn't a nessicity, Snow says you can chose whether you want to complete this task or not. After all, he could get quite a bit of money selling away one half of the Peetato couple's virginity."_

So that was it, Peeta thought with horror. The options of what was going to happen to his purity. Either Cato takes it within the next twenty four hours or . . . another member of the Capitol pays to do it themself. Somewhere lost in the haze of fear, Peeta felt Cato squeeze his hand, but the feeling was faraway, as if he was miles away from him, in a place that was safer.

"He can't do that," Cato said firmly, holding onto Peeta's hand like a lifeline. It should have kept the younger boy anchored but the world just continued to rock like a boat, back and forth, back and forth, until he felt sick to his stomach and couldn't shake out the thought from his head: _I must lose my virginity._ Lose the thing he'd kept so long, something he'd never thought too much about losing until being chosen by Cato . . .

_"But Mr. Hadley, I'm afraid we can. It's up to you, really. You can have it for yourself, or we can let someone else take it instead, which will it be? Yourself, or some unknown Capitol citzen?"_ Mya teased.

"You just can't give away something as personal as that! It's not _right!_" Cato was close to yelling while Peeta was the complete oppisote, stunned into silence and slumped back against the sofa. "Who does Snow think he bloody is?!"

_"The president of Panem,"_ Mya answered.

"Oh shut up," Cato snapped. "I don't care who he is, who he thinks he is, who he dreams he is or who everyone else knows he is!" Mya barely flinched as he yelled at her. "You're not doing this to him! You're just _not_! I am not taking this from him without him telling me he's ready and you're not letting some Capitol citizen do it either! It's his choice, not yours. Not Snow's, not the Capitol's, nobody's!"

"Cato, i-it's fine," Peeta said quietly. "If it's what Snow wants then I'll just . . . l-let you do it-"

"No," Cato turned and took his hands. "I can't do that to you. It's not fair. If this is about what he said he'd do when I'm in the Games-"

"I can't let him kill you," Peeta replied, eyes welling up. "Not when I've just . . . Never mind . . ."

_"There is a third option,"_ Mya wrote.

Peeta squinted through watery eyes at the words on the board. His mind was all over the place, nor here or there, unable to focus on one thing before another thought came to mind and sent him off again in a whirl of fear and confusion. "Another option?" he asked weakly. Mya nodded slowly.

_"If you're having trouble deciding, President Snow can give you a simulation tablet to show you what it will be like losing your virginity by a Capitol citizen?"_ Mya suggested.

"Simulation tablet?" Cato asked cautiously. Peeta glanced at him, startled by the angry expression that was twisted into the career's face. It chilled him to the bone and he couldn't believe how vicious he looked. Did he really care about him that much? That the order of the loss of his purity could put such a scary expression on what Peeta had grown to know as his beautiful face?

Mya's hand dipped into her pocket and she produced a small blue tablet that was balanced between her thumb and forefinger. Peeta eyed it wearily, wondering how such a small thing could create any shape or form of hallucination. Cato seemed to wonder the same as he asked Mya how it worked.

_"I don't know the science of it,"_ she replied._ "All I know is that it will pull you down into a simulation of what would happen if Mr. Hadley doesn't take your virginity by tomorrow. Because Snow knows who he's going to give you to. He has him waiting for your answer, ready to tell him yes or no. Because, in all seriousness, he likes to watch such people as yourself suffer."_

"Suffer?" Cato cut in. "No. We're not doing anything to do with suffering. Nah-uh. Not going to happen." Mya looked disappointed and it was in that moment that Peeta knew that whatever this tablet simulation would do, it would be very bad. Cato saw it too. He moved closer, if that was even possible, and practically pulled Peeta into his lap, wrapping his arms around him like a protective cage.

Mya took a hesitant step forward, and the cage tightened so that it took great effort for Peeta to be able to breathe. He sucked in a sharp breath and tried not to squirm in the tight grip. Cato barely noticed. Either that or he didn't care as he kept Peeta in the embrace, holding him so impossibly close that Peeta thought he was going to crush his ribcage.

In the protective hold, Cato thought it would be okay to let Mya get close. Because he thought it would be alright since he was holding Peeta so tightly. The woman crouched before them and grinned, the blue tablet still held inbetween her fingers. Peeta had began to squirm but Cato refused to let go. If he let go, Mya was going to pull something, he could feel it.

And she did. Only he didn't even need to let go.

She was fast. So impossibly fast that Cato barely had a chance to react. She lurched forward, nails bradished like claws, and dug her teeth into his arm. It didn't hurt too bad, but it caught the career off guard and he whipped his arm away. In that single second she twisted her hand around the front of Peeta's shirt and had yanked him up to his feet. Cato jumped forward to grab him back but she'd already slapped her hand over his mouth, forcing something down his throat.

"Stop it!" Cato yelled, pushing her away. Mya tripped backwards and landed on the coffee table with a loud _thump._ She curled up into a ball and began to laugh, the dreadful sound cutting through the air like a knife through butter. Peeta's eyes rolled up behind his head and Cato grabbed him just as he fell to the floor. "What did you do?!" When Mya didn't answer and continued to laugh, Cato lost it. Gently making sure Peeta lay back on the sofa and not on the floor, he grabbed the white board and shoved it and the marker into Mya's face. "ANSWER ME!"

Grabbing the marker with a shaky hand, Mya chuckled as she explained. _"The simulation will take him into the world of the man Snow will give him to if you don't take his virginity tonight."_ Her words were wigggly and untidy from her laughter but she continued regardless. _"Into the world of a sadistic!"_ Upon writing the final word she cackled and dropped the marker, falling off the back of the coffee table and clutching her stomach. She was enjoying every minute of this.

"You bitch!" Cato shouted.

"What's happened, what's happened, what's happened, what's happened, what's happened?!" Clove came running out of her bedroom, the sharpest knife he'd ever seen clutched in her hand. She quickly assessed the situation: an unconcious Peeta, seething Cato and laughing Mya. Having enough of the bullshit, she growled and threw her knife at the avox, a sick grin spreading across her face as it lodged itself in Mya's thigh and the woman howled. "You fucking bitch, what did you do?!"

"Clove, you were supposed to stay away!" Cato exclaimed, not really mad at her that much but needing something to shout at. Mya's wound began to bleed and yet she was _still_ laughing. Rolling around in a puddle of her own blood, the woman was finally beginning to lose her mind.

"Did you really think I was going to?!" Clove exclaimed back, kind of shocked that Cato assumed she'd just stay in her room when there was an obvious riot going on outside.

"Quickly bandage her up before she dies and you get sent home for murder," Cato ordered. Rolling her eyes in irritance, Clove did what she was told and used a strip of the carpet to tie a tourniquet around the knife wound, making sure to do it nice and tight so that the woman yelped in pain.

Cato turned on his heel and watched Peeta worriedly on the sofa. He'd suffered nightmares but a realistic simulation? What if that was going to be it? What was finally going to make him crack and lose his own mind? At that percise moment, the boy just looked like he was sleeping, but that didn't gurantee what was going on behind his eyelids and in his mind. A sadistic . . . someone like Clove's mother . . .

It had only been a minute when he woke up again. With a gigantic gasp like breaking out through the suface of water after being trapped under for a long time, Peeta bolted off the sofa into an upright position. Cato caught him as he flew forward, looking deep into his eyes for signs of distress or fear. Instead, cold icy orbs stared back at him, devoid of any emotion except indifference.

"Peeta?" he asked carefully. "Are you okay?"

"How long's it been?" Peeta asked back, answering a question with a question.

"A minute."

"Huh, it was a day by the tablet . . . "

"A _day_?!" Clove exclaimed in horror.

"What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Cato asked in a rush, words jumbling together into a meddly of nonsense. Peeta shook his head, hair falling into his eyes, and coughed weakly. Cato wondered what happened under the tablet, but decided it was best not to ask. Mya writhed in pain on the floor but managed to push herself back up into a sitting position.

_"I trust the tablet has helped you decide, Mr. Mellark?" _she asked, her hand splayed out on her thigh.

Peeta nodded mutely. His eyes were vacant and Cato would have done anything to see the emotion back in them. "Yes," he said quietly. "It has."

Cato frowned. "Peeta-"

"What?" he asked sharply, surprising Cato by his tone. "'Don't do this'? 'You don't have to do anything you don't want to'? I think we're past that Cato. And I guess I'd rather it be you than anyone else!" Mya was smirking now, her amusement sickening. She knew exactly what happened when he was under that tablet simulation and if she's loving every minute of this then it had definitely not been a walk in the park.

Peeta stood up and started walking to the corridor that lead to their bedroom. "Peet, where are you going?" Clove asked as he passed her.

"I'm going to our bedroom and Cato's coming with me," Peeta said gravelly, stopping and turning on his heel to looked Cato right in the eye, the deep blue crystals still having no sign of any feeling or emotion. "Aren't you?"

"Peeta, please, you don't have to do this," the career insisted, also standing up. He walked over Mya and stopped in front of Peeta, cupping his face in his hands and forcing him to look him in the eyes _properly._ He searched for something to express he really felt about what had happened under the tablet.

"Oh, I'm sorry, do I have to built up the ambiance or something?" he snapped back, stepping back with his eyes narrowed into a glare. "Yeah, I don't think we have _time_ for that."

Cato was at the end of his tether, on the verge of exploding. Whether he was going to yell at Mya for being such a disgusting individual or at Peeta for being so dismissive of his dignity and self-worth, he wasn't sure. But he sure as hell wasn't going to start to try and convince his partner of how ridiculous all this was and that this was just President Snow being a bastard who had nothing better to do with his time than make other's lives miserable in the middle of the living room.

"Clove, sort her out," he said, referring to the cackling avox who was bleeding out on the floor. He turned to Peeta and took his arm, trying to channel his anger so that he didn't grab him too hard. "You, with me, now."

"I knew this was how it was going to happen," Peeta muttered as Cato took him up the corridor and into the bedroom. "Told when to do it and being associated with Auntie Mya."

Once they were in the room, Cato shut the door and gave Peeta a small shake. "Peeta, she's not your aunt, you have to remember that."

"I can't help forgetting!"

Cato sighed and leant back against the door. "Anything Mya has told you in the past, the present, or any time inbetween, it's all bullshit, you _need_ to remember that!"

"Stop acting like it's so easy!" Peeta snapped. "It's not! I don't know what's real and what's not! Whether something was said by you or said by her! Do you realize how difficult it is to distinguish the difference?"

"Okay then, just ask me what I've said and what she's said," Cato suggested. "And she's the one who said that you have to lose your virginity, not me. And that means you don't have to do it."

Peeta's bottom lip trembled as he tried to reign in the overwhemling emotions he was being battered with. He didn't know what to say, do, or feel. Should he go through with this? Why him? What was the fascination with him, and his relationships, and his purity? Why was President Snow so keen to get rid of it all? What had he ever done? Sure, he understood Mya's hate, but what had he ever done to the President of Panem that made the man so desperate to make his life miserable?

"I do have to do it," he insisted. "I don't want Snow to make sure you die, Cato."

"I can look after myself, I promise," Cato insisted, wishing that Peeta would see that he'd been training for this his entire life and was perfectly able to protect himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and peered at the younger boy over his hand, starting to wonder to what extent did Peeta's innocence reach. "Do you even know how sex works?" he asked.

Peeta frowned. "What? Of course I do."

"No, I mean, how people like _us_ have sex?"

"People like us . . . ?"

"Gay people Peeta, I'm talking about gay people," Cato sighed.

Peeta's eyes widened and his cheeks went pink at the out loud indication that he was gay. "I-I never really t-thought about it."

Feeling slightly sorry for him, Cato rubbed his eyes and moved away from the door and sat down on the bed. "The first time isn't a walk in the park." He reached out and took Peeta's hands, trying to find the best way to put it. "It's going to hurt."

"Hurt?"

Cato nodded.

"H-How badly?"

"It depends," Cato said softly, pulling him down onto the bed beside him. "And I'd very much rather get into it when _you_ decide_ on your own_ that you're ready for it. Not because Mya tells you you have to."

"But I am deciding on my own!" Peeta protested. "I am deciding that I don't want you to die and I'd do anything to make sure that doesn't happen! Didn't you say back in District 2 that you _wanted _this to happen anyway?!"

"Not like this!" Cato exclaimed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself down. "Look," he said, "I don't want you thinking that you have to do this just because of _Mya._ Sure, someday I want to go down that road with you but not because Snow gave a stupid order for you to lose your bloody virginity which, might I add, is appalling."

Peeta's eyes glittered with tears, the salt water looking like shining crystals in his eyes. "You really don't get it do you?" he muttered. "Do you honestly think I could go on living if you died in that arena because Snow murders you because I don't do this? There would be no reason for it. I'd have nothing back in 12 apart from a bunch of people who would know my secret and very likely judge me by it and nothing in 2 because . . . because you wouldn't be there."

"You're not right of mind, I couldn't do anything after what happened last-"

"Don't you dare," Peeta threatened, standing up and snapping his fingers. "Don't you dare Cato Hadley or I _will_ lose my mind because I'm sick, _sick_, of hearing that! There's nothing wrong with me! Why does everyone think there is? I'm not mentally ill, I'm fine, I swear, why does everyone think I'm crazy?!"

Cato gently tugged Peeta back to sit down on the bed. "Sssh, calm down," he said, framing his partner's face in his hands and stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs to soothe his frayed nerves. "You're not sick. _Or_ crazy. And even if you were I wouldn't let it stop you from doing what you wanted to unless it was dangerous or affected the welfare of yourself or others. But I _can't_ do this with you knowing that you're doing it with Mya's threat hanging over your head."

"I can't let you die, Cato." Wet. Tears. Immediately, Peeta took Cato's hands off his face so he could wipe the tears away with the heels of his hands. The career watched with a frown, finally deciding to ask what he'd wondered nearly every time he'd seen Peeta cry.

"What is that?" he demanded. "Going around and acting like crying is a freakin' sin?"

"Crying's a weakness," Peeta muttered in response.

"Oh, and who told you that?" Cato asked.

Peeta glared at him, a serious expression of intense irritance on his face. "Does it matter who told me?" he asked stiffly.

"Well, yeah, if you're actually believing it then it does matter," he said. "I mean, who told you something as ridiculous as that? Why did you believe them?"

Continuing to rub his eyes viciously, Peeta shook his head. "I don't remember."

"If you believe it so avidly then it must have been someone close to you who told you?" Cato suggested. "Was it Katniss? Your friend Madge? Delly?"

Peeta pulled a face. "How do you remember those names?"

Cato's eyebrows bowed into a frown. "Because you mentioned them back in 2."

"And that automatically means you're going to remember them?"

"I remember everything you tell me," Cato stated as if it was obvious.

Peeta stared at him for a moment, his gaze unwavering, as if staring at him for a consecutive string of minutes would make him break. Of course, this failed. What he was saying was true because he did remember nearly everything Peeta had told him over the past week. About his life, his friends, his family, the traumatic week last year . . . everything.

"My mom told me it."

Cato's eyebrows shot to his hairline.

"And Mya said it as well."

"And out of all the people to believe, you believe _them_?!" Cato exclaimed. Peeta looked suddenly small as he shrank back at his tone. He didn't mean to be so sharp about it and immediately felt guilty. "Why do you hang onto something your mother and Mya told you?"

"Because it's true," Peeta answered quietly.

"No it's not," Cato said. Watching Peeta's confused expression, he sighed, leaning back so he leant back against the headboard. "Come here." He wrapped his arm around his shoulders and gently pulled his head against his chest. Peeta was reluctant at first but quickly gave in, closing his eyes and trying to calm down. "If you want to cry, baby, you just cry, okay? There's nothing wrong with it."

"When did that start?" Peeta murmered.

"When did what start?" Cato asked,

"The 'baby' thing?"

Cato shrugged. "Just started coming naturally, I suppose. Why? Do you want me to stop?" Peeta mumbled something he didn't catch and shook his head. Cato smiled and ran his hand over the younger's hair. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, basking in the quiet and enjoying it before restarting the initial part of their arguement.

"I don't want you to die," Peeta muttered, turning his face to bury it into Cato's side.

"I'm not going to die," Cato said.

"You don't know that."

Cato sighed, sensing an unmovable wall when he encountered one. Instead of answering, he rested his chin ontop of Peeta's chin and continued petting his hair. "I love you," he said quietly.

There was a long pause before Peeta responded. "I know," he said. "And I-I suppose I do too."

"Do what?"

"Love you too."

Cato's heart did a mini-flip, spun around in a 360 circle and began fluttering like a butterfly. He couldn't help it, he had to kiss him after hearing him say that. Becuase-despite the situation-it lifted his spirits so high he was nearly flying. Cato leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against Peeta's lips. The boy tasted sweet, like cinamon and rainforest air. Peeta's eyes fluttered shut and he smiled, face relaxed for what felt like ages. His smile was contagious and Cato found himself smiling too. Compared to the current situation, smiling really was ridiculous.

"I'm still going to sleep with you," he muttered, not even opening his eyes.

"Peeta," Cato said sternly, "get over yourself."

"No," he replied. He sat up and folded his arms in a huff. "I don't care about myself, Cato. My self worth died long ago. I don't know why you're making such a gigantic deal out of this. The amount of times I nearly lost it to Mya is so numerical that I couldn't give a toss anymore. And with whatever the hell Snow wants to do to me I suppose I'm just going to end up as a piece of trash anyway."

"Stop talking about yourself like that for at _least_ five minutes," Cato demanded, grabbing Peeta by the arms and shaking him. The career took a deep breath to dampen his temper and started again. "When I first make love to you, I want to be able to take my time."

"Your . . . time?"

"Yes, _my time._ I don't want to have Mya looming near by or President Snow's threats hanging over our heads," Cato explained. "It's not fair that it should be like that."

"I think we lost the battle with what's fair long ago," Peeta replied dryly.

"Stop acting like you've lost all hope!" Cato exclaimed. "I know this is hard, I'm not even the epicenter of this problem and yet I'm very close to tearing my hair out. I can't imagine what it's doing to your head, as one of main contributers to the epicenter."

Peeta frowned. "You're not making sense now."

"I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up," Cato replied. "Look," he took Peeta's hand and softly kissed his knuckles, "I love you and I wish I could understand what's inside your mind but I can't and I don't think it's worth it to even try because I've known you for more than a week now and I don't even think I've scratched the surface."

Peeta looked sheepish. "You've scratched a bit further than the surface . . ."

"That's not far enough," Cato said.

"I'm sorry for not being able to let you know what it's like in my mind," Peeta said slowly. He was completely lost. "But I'm pretty sure I've told you all you can know, if you haven't noticed."

"I've noticed," Cato replied. "Doesn't mean I understand how your mind works." He sighed and ran a hand over his face. Damn Mya and the day she was born, this was all her fault. Well, her and Snow's fault. "I suppose I won't ever really understand what it's like to be a PTS sufferer or what it's like in their minds but . . . Peeta, baby, I know you mean well but it's not Snow's decision as to how or when you lose your virginity. Or about who takes it as well."

"If you knew what happened under the tablet, Cato, you would already have taken it," Peeta muttered.

Cato raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?"

"Yes." For a broken boy, Peeta held the most serious look in his eyes. "I'm positive."

~xXx~

"Fire burns, you know."

Cato scoffed and barely spared Clove a glance as they stood in the foyer that had been set up beside the make shift stage for the tribute interviews. He was too busy watching Peeta, who was standing at the other side of the room, getting the finishing touches done on his suit. Even though he wasn't technically a reaped tribute, Peeta still had to go after the tribute interviews where Caeser would be talking to him as a special 'treat' to the Capitol audience.

As usual, the stylist had insisted on copying 12's stylist's idea of using fire as a main style template. They still claimed that since they were of the same district, they needed the same style. The black suit was sparkling, as if someone had dumped a box of glitter onto the fabric, and the inside of the jacket was sewed with an underlaying of red silk, the cufflinks on the sleeves made to look like crystalised balls of fire. Compared to what Cato and Clove were wearing, Peeta was looking like a disco ball.

Cato couldn't look away.

"Really? Fire burns? I'd never have guessed," he said.

Clove barked out a laugh and shook her head. "Seriously though, think about it," she said. "President Snow has set your bloody relationship on fire and now there's nothing you can do but stand by and watch it while it burns down."

"You really think it's going to burn down?" Cato muttered.

"If things keep going the way they're going then . . . yeah." Clove plucked at the material of her dress and shook out her ankles to relax her aching feet. "You know I love you as a brother Cato and I know you love Peeta very much but I really don't want to watch you get burned."

"I appreciate the concern Clove but I can look after myself," Cato replied.

"God, would s_top_ with the whole self independance thing? People are going to worry about you and there's nothing you can do about it so either accept it or keep letting it bounce off you. You do realize it's pretty stupid, don't you? Not everything is going to bounce off, you know!" Clove exclaimed. "You were like this when he said he wanted to sleep with you for your safety," she said in a quieter voice. "He's just trying to help you. For once maybe you should except it."

"But his past-"

"Is obviously not hindering him in his decision," Clove interuppted. "You're the one who's been wanting to sleep with him since the very beginning and now he's offering you're denying it. Now I understand there's been some pretty fucked up stuff in that kid's past and it'll probably be a bit of a problem for him but I don't doubt that he wants it as much as you do."

"Want what?" Peeta had appeared beside them, suit twinkling like tiny stars under the lights overhead. Up close, Cato noticed that the glitter didn't just stop on his clothes but was also brushed into his hair and dabbed onto his face. He kind of looked like a fey.

"Oh nothing," Clove replied, turning on her heel and walking off to join the other four careers. Glimmer-the girl from District One-stood proudly in her almost completely transparent pink mini-dress, every so often fluffing up her hair and looking around herself, as if searching for eyes on her. Really, no-one was looking at her. But then again, could you expect anything less from someone with Gymnophoria?

"You know, people in my year in school used to make fun of glitter," Peeta mused as he examined his twinkling arms. "They used to say it was very 'gay'." He fought back a grin as Cato raised his eyebrows. "Or, in some people's terms, very _Capitol._"

"Capitol? That's an insult in 12?"

"Oh yeah," Peeta replied. "If only they'd see me now. I feel as if I've been forced under a glitter shower for a month." He brushed his sleeve and sighed when the glitter didn't budge. "It's going to take forever to wash off. I'll very likely still be finding it behind my ears by the time you get back from the Games."

Cato chuckled. There was a part of his mind that reminded him that they were going to have to restart their conversation that had ended quite aburptly after the arrival of their stylists earlier after the interviews. But, until then, he was happy enough enjoying the small moments up until then.

"Do you even realize how sticky it is to have your skin coated in the stuff?" Peeta asked. "You're lucky you're from two and don't need fire or glitter. What happened to being coal every year, I want to know that."

Cato grinned and scruffed his sparkly hair. "You suit sparkles very well," he said in a patronizing tone.

Peeta scowled. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked. Cato winked and flicked a speck of glitter off his shoulder. "Oh yes, har de har har, laugh at the peasant from 12 bathed in jewels. All you've got is bloody weapon cufflinks! And you're _used_ to weapons!"

Cato sniggered. "Oh baby you ain't no peasant," he said, putting on a southern accent. Peeta made a face and thumped him. "What? It's a compliment!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your accent," Peeta replied dryly.

Cato grabbed his elbow with faux urgency and gasped. "Wanna hear a secret?" he asked. Peeta squinted at him in confusion. "The accent?" Cato looked left and right before dropping his voice to a whisper. "It's fake."

_"What?"_ The baker gasped, splaying his hand over his heart. "Really? The accent you aquired only a second ago and only used for one sentence is _fake?_ Oh my god, what's real and what's not any more? I don't think I can go on living like this!" He faked a swoon, falling back on his heels. Cato caught him with a laugh.

"You're so melodramatic, you know that, right?" he chuckled.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand the meaning of the word melodramatic," Peeta replied. "Could you elaborate on it?"

"Okay, elaboration: you."

"Well, _that _clears it up," Peeta scoffed sarcastically.

It was nice to act like there was nothing wrong for once. Like there was no threat hanging over both their heads. That nothing really mattered but right then, in the middle of the floor beside the Hunger Games interview stage, messing around like nothing was wrong. Even though, in the very near future, the threat would be back and they would have to deal with it.

The tribute interviews went smoothly enough. Cato breezed past his by bigging up the 'big, bad killing machine image' which he'd been pretty much been doing most his life so was easy enough. Clove pretty much done the same, building her image as the rock hard girl who only needed her knives to win the Games. After that, they'd spent their minutes sizing up the competition properly. Other than the other careers themselves, the only real threats-Cato thought-were the boy from 11 who matched him in size and stature, and, shockingly, the guy from 12, who got reaped with Peeta's ex-friend.

Peeta's ex-friend who, apparently, held the guy's heart in her small hands.

Cato couldn't help but find it ridiculous when this 'Gale' person declared his love on live t.v. Clove was more open about the fact, barking out a laugh and covering her mouth to muffle her amusement. She had always been the sort of person who believed that love was a load of rubbish. She'd normally believe in it for others but never, ever in the soppy forms of random declarations.

"So, let'me get this straight," she whispered to Cato as they watched the interview continue on the t.v backstage. "This guy loves Katpiss?"

"-niss," Cato found himself correcting automatically. Peeta was rubbing off on him. "And yeah, it seems that way." They both looked in said girl's direction to gauge her reaction and Clove couldn't help laughing again at the poor girl's horrified expression.

"Looks like someone's feelings isn't recuporated," she said under her breath.

"How horrible," Peeta said, folding his arms and shivering against the sudden chill in the room. Cato glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. Even after being betrayed by her, he still seemed to have a great concern for what happened in that girl's life.

"Oh yes, boo-hoo and all that, but back on topic, what in the name of sanity, did they do to your hair?" Clove asked. "You, my friend, look like a bi-sexual glitter monkey. Even Glimmer, gymnaphoria _Glimmer_, is not wearing as much glitter as you. Weird, ain't it?"

"What sort of english is _ain't it?_" Cato asked.

Clove scowled. "Shut up," she said acidly.

_"And now, ladies and gentlemen, we've got an extra special treat for you all,"_ Caeser Flickerman said on the t.v. The three of them turned to the screen and watched as the blue haired man explained about how they'd gotten the other half of the 'Peetato' couple to come on and talk about their relationship.

"I have to talk about the relationship?" Peeta hissed to Cato. "What am I supposed to _say_?"

"Just answer whatever questions you may be asked and skive around anything that may make you uncomfortable," Cato replied. "They can't ask you anything too horrifying . . ." He trailed off, unsure of whether they could or not. After the events of the previous week, Cato wasn't sure what they could or couldn't do anymore.

"If you want, I can go out and stab the guy in the neck if he says anything inappropriate," Clove offered, lifting her peach skirts to reveal a knife slid into a holster strap wrapped around her thigh.

"Yeah, thanks and all but I'd rather not have to wrestle you off the Capitol's equavilant of a pop icon," Cato intervened.

"Would probably make better headlines than the bumbling idiot from 12 who had no idea what he was doing," Peeta put forward. "I'm almost certain that the Capitol love scandal more than gossip."

"You know what you do then," Clove said before dropping her voice to a whisper. She waved Cato and Peeta to lean forward so they created a huddle. "You say you're pregnant!"

Peeta snorted and pulled back from the huddle. "What's that for then? The scandal?"

"Oh yeah, could work," Clove said. "Pretend you were an experiment baby and right here-" she patted his sparkly coated abdamon-"is where your little ovaries lie. Then say you're on the blob and that's why you're such a bumbling fool!" She beamed, revealing all her pearly white teeth. "Problem solved!"

Peeta threw Cato an incredulous look. "Is she serious?" he asked.

Cato shrugged. "It's hard to tell."

"Of course I'm not serious!" Clove exclaimed. "Like they'd believe it. Where would the poor wittle eggs go for you to be on the blob? It wouldn't work."

"_That's_ the part of the story that wouldn't work?!"

_"Introducing, Peeta Mellark!"_ Caeser Flickerman announced.

Peeta's head shot to the screen and his eyes widened in horror. "I can't go out there," he muttered. "There's too many people."

Cato took his arm and gently guided him to the steps that led up to the stage. "Yes, you can. I'm right here behind you. If you feel scared, just look at me, okay? Pretend every question is coming from me." By now they were standing on the threshold of the stage. Peeta was on the verge of hyperventilation, panic beginning to set into his bones. Cato pressed what he hoped to be a comforting kiss on the boy's lips before hugging him. "Right here," he whispered in his ear.

Peeta pulled back, blinked back tears that formed from the bright lights of the stage, and stepped out. The lumionous lights that lit up the area bounced off the glitter on his suit and hair and caught in the prism of the diamond on top of his cane, sending random sparks everywhere, making him look like he'd been set on fire.

The crowd went wild.

"Jesus," Clove cursed, appearing by Cato's side. "Bigger reaction than Glimmer got in her bloody see through dress. You guys are big stuff. Well, he is more than you. You're a tribute _and_ you aren't the one who was claimed. I suppose the Capitol are more into the abnormal than the normal."

"Clove, Peeta is normal," Cato replied.

The raven haired girl turned to him and blinked. "Surely you still don't believe that."

Cato opened his mouth to reply but was cut off as the interview began. He kept his eyes on Peeta the entire time, mouthing, _You're doing great,_ anytime the boy would glance his way. Caeser didn't pry too much into their personal lives which, instead of settling Cato's nerves, set them on fire instead.

Because if they weren't concerned with it now, what would happened later when he was no longer there to draw the line?

As soon as it ended, Peeta hurried off stage like the hounds of hell themselves were chasing him off. Cato helped him down off the stage and Clove clapped him on the back. "See? Not scary at all," she said, beaming. "Plus, you don't really have a chance to be nervous because you're more distracted by the guy's giant pedo smile. It practically screams, 'I have candy in my van children!'."

Peeta smiled wryly and tugged off his suit jacket, pulling a face at the glittery garment. There were small dustings on the white shirt underneath but it wasn't in the gigantic amounts that graced the jacket. Clove took it off him and shrugged it on herself, scoffing when she found herself drowning in it. Cato wrapped his arms around Peeta's waist and pulled him into a hug.

"You did amazing," he murmered into his shoulder.

"You think so?" Peeta whispered.

"I know so."

There was a pause where they just stood like that. Embracing in the middle of the room of tributes, not giving a damn who saw. Clove made a show out of pulling up the jacket sleeves and wolf whistling, laughing when Cato discreetly flipped her off. Even when not dressed up in a flaming costume, Peeta seemed to have a nature for exuding heat anyway. His natural warmth was what kept the career clinging to him for so long, one hand splayed out on his lower back, the other cradling the nape of his neck, wishing that he'd never have to let go.

"Cato?" he whispered after a while.

"Yeah?" Cato murmered back.

"We still need to talk," Peeta said.

"About what?"

"About losing my virginity."

And the perfect picture shattered.

_**A/N: Again, apologies for the delay, blame switching internet companies. They're really intent on keeping you on their side it's shocking!**_

_**Preview: Chapter Fifteen:**_

_**Fire had a new meaning to him.**_

_**Fire wasn't just one of the five elements of the earth that sparked the interest of arsonists and burned down cities and colonies. **_

_**Fire burned.**_

_**It coursed through his veins and tore it's way through his being. It made him feel the lust and the passion that appealed to so many people before. To the entirety of 12. To the customers of Auntie Mya. To the citizens of the Capitol who bought the tabloids with their faces on the front. It had him gasping for air, clinging to the edge of the earth, too scared to let go.**_

_**But he'd let go anyway.**_

_**I've also decided to respond to some of my reviewers now as well, so yay! **_

_**MangoMagic17: You, my friend, are my hero. Seriously. Your lengthy reviews are so touching to read and you make me smile so much! Yes, I believe Cato has grown as a person throughout this fic and I suppose it's because he's finally discovering what it's like to love someone. I love writing Clove as well, she's just so naturally sassy in my mind. And Peeta's lie concerning Katniss, well, we'll just have to wait and see what that's about, won't we?**_

_**Kit of Yoai: Whelp, that's a sure neat way to end it. Sadly though, Mya still lives and breathes.**_

_**Iang: Haha, yup, I'm Welsh. Cardiff born and raised. Thanks for the awesome review!**_

_**Beth: Yeah, I'm Welsh. I kind of know the native language but am kind of rusty so bear with me if I ever make mistakes ;)**_

_**OhYummCakesss: Tension is high, I'll give you that. Please don't die on me though, I love my readers!**_

_**ElementalEvolution: Thanks for the wonderful review! ^_^**_

_**Diolch i chi am ddarllen fy ffrindiau! Eisteddwch yn dynn ar gyfer y bennod nesaf!**_

_**Please R&R! :D**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: Hello all! Sorry for the wait! My broadband was messed up but it's fine now! (:**_

_**The teaser from the previous chapter has been omitted because I couldn't fit it in anywhere.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Meh.**_

Chapter Fifteen

The day Cato discovered he was gay. He'd cried.

He had been raised on the belief that being gay was a disease. Not by his parents. In fact, Jeffory and Maryse Hadley were firm believers in being who you were and not changing for anyone. The family motto was, 'Be who you are, it won't make a difference to me.' But outside the Hadley household, there were others. Friends from school who would trash on homosexuals until the sun set every day and when it rose every morning. Cato remembered when he was one of them. Thinking that it was a choice, something you wanted to be and wanted to do with your life.

And when he realized it _wasn't_ . . . well, it hit him pretty hard.

He'd developed an unwanted crush on his Biology Professor in school. The man was in his twenties, almost too young to be a teacher of such an advanced subject, and Cato had unwitteningly placed the man on a high pedastol, thinking he was perfect and there was nothing he could do wrong. He wasn't that bad looking either . . . He knew his friends would murder him. Probably beat him up and treat him differently for the rest of his life.

And that's why he'd cried.

He tore at his hair in his bedroom for hours, screaming at himself for being so disgusting, so horrible for making such a atricious decision. Even though he hadn't _remembered_ making the decision, at this point he still believed it was a choice. He had already started making plans about going into hiding, getting homeschooled, never facing the world ever again.

"Cato?" Kayla had called, pushing into his room. Their parents had been away to work and hadn't heard him screaming and crying. In fact, he'd completely forgotten about his little sister being home and that's why he hadn't worried about her hearing him. "What's wrong?"

She was only a kid then. Maybe nine, ten years old. Cato knew as he looked into her wide green eyes that the best thing to do was to tell her the truth so she could get on with it and be disgusted in him as well. "Kay, I'm gay," he had told her.

Kayla blinked, confusion washing over her features like a tidal wave. "Yes?" she had said. "And?" This had taken him aback, made him wonder if she'd heard him correctly. If he'd said it properly. Maybe she didn't understand . . . maybe she didn't know what it meant to be gay. She obviously didn't, if she was accepting it so easily.

"I'm g-a-y," he said slower.

"I heard you the first time," Kayla replied. "What's the problem?"

"It's disgusting, that's the problem!"

Kayla looked like he chucked a bucket of ice-cold water over her. "What? Who told you that?" she had asked.

"Kayla, everyone knows that."

"Obviously not," she had responded. "Because it's wrong. There's nothing wrong with being gay, jeez, I thought you knew that. You are the older one after all. I wondered when you were going to catch yourself on and realize that what your friends say about homosexuals ain't funny and is just plain horrifying. We all look down on them . . . they're really patheic." She grinned. "Except you. Everyone knows about you."

Cato's eyebrows drew together. "What?" he asked.

Kayla laughed. "It was obvious, trust me. I'm sorry but it's hard to miss the way you stare at some guys. I thought you'd be okay with it once you realized . . ." She took a step forward into his room. "You're not disgusting, believe me. Your friends are the disgusting ones. You should ditch them, like, immediately."

Once again, bulletproof evidence that his younger sister was wiser than him.

Cato didn't what she told him to though and got rid of his old group of friends who, when they realized what he was, were quite happy to see the back of him. Cato didn't care, he honestly didn't give a damn about them anymore. He'd gotten over the Biology Professor over the long months after that, but started dating the odd guy every now and then.

He didn't love the boy he lost his virginity to. Not at all. It was a drunken mistake one night at a Hunger Games Reaping party when he was sixteen. They'd both found it extremely awkward the next morning but parted on good ways and were still friends up until Cato went into the Games. After that night though, Cato began fucking on a regular basis.

But fucking was careless. Ugly, even.

Something he never wanted to do to Peeta.

"Hear me out, please."

Cato rolled his eyes as they entered their bedroom, throwing his jacket onto the bed and turning to face Peeta, hands on hips. "Go on, then. Convince me why this is such a good idea."

Peeta stood in the doorway, jacket trailing the ground as he held it in his fist. His eyes were soft, his expression helpless. They'd argued the whole way up, even in the elevator, despite Clove's blatant disapproval of a tiff over, what she claimed to be, 'This most ridiculous perdicament ever,' and now that he got a good look at him, Cato realized that Peeta was exhausted from fighting his point.

"I don't want it to be anyone else," he said quietly, his voice gentle but firm. He stepped into the room, gaze locked on the carpet as he shut the door behind him. He didn't turn around, his back facing Cato and his front facing the door. "Do you seriously think there could be anyone else?"

"Could what be anyone else?" Cato asked skeptically.

Peeta inhaled, his breath shuddering. "Could there ever anyone else but you that'd I'd ever want to do this _with._ Because there _isn't._"

Cato eyed him with a slight squint, wishing he'd turn around so he could see his face again. "Elaborate," he demanded.

"If-heaven forbid-you"-deep breath-"_die_ in the Games . . . I won't have you any more. I'll be on my own, very likely being at Snow's mercy to do with as he wished. I'm sure a grieveing boyfriend story would be phemononal around these parts."

There was a long pause and Cato watched with concern as Peeta shook his head and rubbed the back of his hand across his face, very probably his eyes. He wanted to go over to him and pull him close, to stop those tears and banish them forever, but something kept his feet planted to the ground. A need to see where this was going. To hear what he had to say.

"If you die and I'm still a virgin, I'm going to have to sell it to a freakin' clown from the Capitol. And now I've said those words, the words I've been scared of my entire life, the words my mother had told me were the words of weakness, the words my father said were the key to your heart, I've realized that it _is_ you. There's no one else. There's never going to be anyone else. I want the person who I handed the key of my heart over to so easily to be the one to also hold my purity to their hands as well as that key because the key is a key but it's nothing without the lock."

"The lock?" Cato asked slowly.

"Yes, the _lock._ Well, if you can use a key to open a lock that isn't there then I'm bloody impressed," Peeta said seriously. "The key, Cato, is what I handed over to you as soon as I told you I loved you too and the lock is the trust I'm placing _in_ you. Because I do trust you to do this with me. Not for the Capitol, not for Snow, not for Mya . . . for _us._"

"What happens when I turn the key in this lock, then?" Cato questioned.

Peeta chuckled softly, the sound so gentle Cato almost missed it. "I'll be yours. I suppose it's kind of a sucky reponse but it's the best that's going to come out of my key and lock."

Cato felt a stab of pain in his chest and he felt the ache spread out from his heart into his limbs and mind. It was such a perfect response that it made him dizzy. "I don't want to hurt you, Peeta," he said.

"Mya hurt me, Cato. You never have and will never be like her. You will never hurt me. After what that cursed woman did to me, I didn't think I'd ever find someone who'd want me. Damaged goods, that's what I believed I was. With so much baggage I was weighed down to the floor with the sheer weight of it all. Even Katniss, my best friend Katniss, couldn't even _look_ at me the same way after that. They all pitied me. The whole District did. I was the baker boy who got kidnapped and molested by a secretive trafficking team. No one saw me in the same light anymore, and I thought that's what was going to make my life loveless."

Cato's heart melted in pain. "Peeta-"

"And then you chose me and I thought, _Oh my god, this guy is going to kill me_, because of the image that had been built up about the careers. And then you act all kind and considerate and throw me completely off. Your family accepted me like I had always been part of the family, the whole lot of you being nothing like the careers I'd been told about in 12, with the expection of your uncle. Then you kissed me and I didn't know what to bloody do anymore. Because I felt this little spark in my gut that caused this little voice at the back of my head to start whispering things about attraction and being gay and love and it took all my strength to ignore it.

"When I fell in love with you Cato, it felt like I had walked into a brick wall. It was like someone had changed the contrast of everything in my life, making everything bright and look newer. The world paled so much in comparison to how I lived without you. And if you're going into the Games tomorrow, I want to give myself to you in every single way. Like the last piece of my puzzle finally solved . . . no longer jumbled up or confused anymore."

Cato had always been notorious for constantly having something to say in response. He'd been commended on many occasions on his ability to keep fights going for hours with his witty comebacks, but for once he was speechless. His heart just pounded against his ribcage as he struggled to find words just as perfect as Peeta had done. He failed, quite epically, and instead found himself realizing that he was on the wrong side of the arguement. That Peeta didn't want to do this for Snow or Mya. He really did want to do it for them.

And he wanted to do it as well. For them.

"I don't want to hear you going on about my mental stability or my past and how that's what's hindering your decision because if you just don't want me then I can handle it for you to just tell me-" Peeta continued to ramble.

Cato walked up behind him and spun him around so he was facing him again. The blue of his eyes had darkened in shade, tears spilling out freely and streaming down his cheeks. Immediately, the eyes skived away from his own and fixated on a point somewhere behind his left shoulder as Peeta continued, desperate to finish his point.

"-and I'd rather you'd just tell me if you didn't want me now rather than waiting until later when my hopes of you actually having told me the truth when you'd said you loved me being true are higher than they are right now. Because dashed dreams now are better than dashed dreams later. I should learn to take rejection anyway because it's apparently part of life and . . ."

Peeta trailed off as Cato tipped his chin up with his knuckle and placed his thumb against his lips. The thin trails the tears had left in their wake shimmered, cutting a path through the glitter on his face. He blinked and his eyelashes brushed his cheeks, catching some of said glitter onto the thin hairs. "You finished yet?" Cato asked with a smile, his voice almost a whisper.

"I-I don't know," Peeta replied, his stutter returning almost instantly.

His bashful trait always being the most charming thing he'd ever encountered, Cato chuckled and let his thumb slide down over his bottom lip. He gently gripped his chin and leaned forward. Peeta's eyes darted frantically from his lips and his eyes in a panic. Cato's heart warmed at how innocent he still was, even when it came to kissing.

Cato paused when his lips were a hair bredth's away from touching Peeta's. The boy inhaled sharply, quivering in fear of the unknown. "Ready to hand over that lock then?" he whispered.

Eyes drooping shut in content and jaw clenching in slight fear, Peeta nodded.

The kiss started off slow. Cato wanted to take it at that pace, knowing well and good that it was something to ease into. Peeta stood frozen, eyes slid peacefully shut. Cato took a hold of one of his hands, squeezing it reassuredly while gently cupping his cheek with his spare one. Peeta leaned into his hand almost immediately, taking comfort in the soft touch. He opened his mouth as soon as Cato requested entrance and softly moaned as the career explored deeper than he had ever done before, caressing every crevice with as much attention as he saw fit.

They were breathless when they pulled away. It was such a shame air was nessecary. If it wasn't, Cato wasn't sure when he would have stopped kissing Peeta. It never got old. He opened his mouth to ask if he was okay but didn't get a chance to because as soon as he'd taken a breath, Peeta had pushed up onto his tiptoes and smashed their lips back together. It took him by surprise but who was he to complain?

Cato reluctantly pulled his mouth away and smirked when Peeta whimpered at the loss. The boy looked at him, slightly confused and disoreintated from all the kissing.

"You dropped your jacket," Cato said. Peeta looked down at the floor and laughed at the glittery garment that lay on the carpet.

"So I did," he chuckled. "Meh, it's fine where it is."

"I agree." Cato started walking towards the bed, his hand still holding onto Peeta's. Once they reached it, he turned to him and tenderly cupped his face. "You sure you want to do this?" he asked.

Peeta nodded. "I'm sure," he said. He glanced at the bed nervously. "How do we do it? G-gay people, I mean?"

Cato smiled in what he hoped was a comforting manner. He gently prised the cane out of Peeta's hand and propped it against the bedside table, knowing he wouldn't be needing it any time soon. "We'll take this slow, okay? Step by step. I don't want to over-whelm you." He reached up and took a hold of the knot of Peeta's sparkly orange tie. "May I?"

Peeta glanced at it and back at Cato. He nodded. "Yeah," he said.

Cato pushed open the knot and threaded it out until it was just a long strip of glittery fabric. He pulled it off and threw it off to the side before reconnecting their lips in a tender but firm kiss. Peeta buried a hand into his hair and gripped it weakly, apprehensive about holding on too tight and hurting him.

Before he had even registered what he was doing, his fingers were neatly slipping each button out of it's hole on his shirt so that there was room for him to kiss his neck. This was normally the point where Peeta wouldn't be able to continue, some lone forloun memory uprooting itself in his brain. This time though, instead of the snapping of the fingers, Cato got the grip on his hair tightening and a loud groan of approval escaping from the normally tormented blond.

Invigorated, Cato went on further, sucking the tender skin of the younger's neck while simultaniously undoing the rest of the buttons. Peeta hesitantly started popping out his shirt buttons too, fumbling every time Cato nipped or licked his skin. Sometimes he even had to pause just to moan and pull the career closer to him.

"Cato," he whispered breathlessly, pushing the Capitol Cotton shirt off Cato's shoulders while he paid avid attention to the skin under his jaw.

"Hmm?" Cato hummed.

"I just wanted t-to warn you that I'm not very well endowed in the physical appearance are-A!" Peeta's voice rose in pitch when Cato ran his tongue up the length of his jaw and gently bit his earlobe. "And I just w-w-wanted you to k-know in case you were expecting something el-oh godddd." He groaned as the career's ever the explorative tongue dipped into his ear and curled around the shell. Really, Cato was trying to make him to realize he didn't care what his body looked like, he'd still feel the same way towards him.

It took Peeta a couple of minutes to buck up the courage to actually touch Cato. While the older blond was nipping at his collar bone with his teeth, the younger reached out and pressed his palm against his abs. His touch was like fire and Cato inhaled sharply, moaning into the boy's skin. Peeta took this as a go-ahead to continue and ran his hand up and down, his other one soon joining in as well. As he got more confident, Cato's kissing got more intense.

Placing a hand on the small of his back, Cato carefully lowered Peeta down onto the bed. They kicked off their shoes and he straddled his hips on the mattress and practically pushed him down into the cushions with a kiss. Peeta's hands ran up and down his back, leaving firey trails behind, burning long after his touch had gone somewhere else. Cato cautiously started touching Peeta himself, making sure each contact was gentle and tender.

He started slow, just like with the kiss. Beginning with just brushes of his fingertips against the boy's abdamon and making sure he was comfortable with it-using his reponses to it as a guide-before venturing into risky waters.

When he had first touched his nipple, it had ripped such a sharp gasp from the boy underneath him that he was almost completely sure that he had went too far. "You okay?" he asked in concern.

Peeta sat up slightly, looking dazed and blinking at him through eyes clouded with lust. "You actually touch p-people there?" he asked breathlessly. "I t-thought that was only for w-women!"

Cato smiled. His innocence was just too cute. "Trust me," he said, carefully guiding him down onto his back again. He pecked his lips lovingly and held eye contact the whole time as he resumed what he was doing. When his fingers found their target again, Peeta's eyes slid shut and he inhaled sharply. Knowing that it wasn't a bad thing this time around, Cato pinched the area teasingly, chuckling when Peeta squeaked like a mouse.

He leaned down and kissed him again, enjoying the feeling of Peeta's eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. While Peeta's hands were pressed against his back, Cato ventured on further, unable to help noticing the boy's flinch when his fingetips skimmed the top of his pants.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked for the millionth time, brushing their lips together.

Eyes still shut, Peeta nodded. "Yeah," he whispered, his breath tickling Cato's face. "Just be gentle, okay?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way," the career replied. He then proceeded to unbuckle the fancy belt engraved with flame designs. Peeta sucked in a nervous breath when he began to inch them off, exposing his baby blue boxer shorts, refusing to open his eyes and clutching the bed sheets until his knuckles turned paper white. Cato paused. "Are you sure about this?" he asked again, unsure of himself.

Peeta nodded, eyes screwed shut. "Just the scar," he mumbled quietly. "It's ugly looking."

Cato's eyes flickered to the spot where the marbled scar lay, the area not having yet been exposed. He slid the pants down further to have a look, a sorrowful smile building up on his face at the sight. Unable to resist, he reached out and ran his fingertips over the area. Peeta exhaled shakily and made a face, his entire body going tense on reflex.

"So, so beautiful," Cato murmered under his breath, tracing every twist and turn of the damaged skin.

Peeta laughed breathily, the sound half filled with nerves and half filled with hysteria. To distract himself, he busied himself with the job of shucking his pants off the rest of the way. "Scars are beautiful to you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice cheery but failing when it cracked mid-sentence.

"No," Cato responded. He took the boy's thigh and lifted it slightly off the mattress to place a loving kiss on the scar, letting his lips linger. Peeta quietly gasped in surprise, whether it being a good thing or a bad thing, Cato wasn't sure. "I think you're beautiful," he said, peppering feather soft kisses all over the damaged area. "And I'm going to prove it to you."

He worked his way back up to Peeta's mouth, tapping kisses over every available piece of skin. His heart was thumping and he felt delirious, never wanting to stop worshipping the perfect body underneath him. When Cato was eye-level with him again, he cupped Peeta's face and stroked his cheekbone with his thumb.

"Open you eyes," he said gently. He wanted to see the beautiful blue again, to stare into them as he made love to him. Peeta did as he was told, eyes fluttering open with a still innocent flicker in them. Cato smiled and sealed their lips together again. His hands brushed the boy's inner-thighs, and he softly shushed him when he whimpered fearfully. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," he whispered against his mouth.

"I know," Peeta breathed. Nodding, Cato proceeded, trailing up further and hooking his thumbs into the waistband of the boxers. Breath shuddering and face turning red, Peeta refused to watch, staring at the ceiling with avid interest. Cato wished he was more confident because, as he removed the last barrier that prevented complete exposure, he knew there was never going to ever be anything as breathtaking as the nude form of his lover.

Cato was painfully aroused, finding it difficult to smother his tougher side that wanted to just ravage the boy but was succeeding in it anyway. He discarded his own pants before reassuming his position leaning over Peeta in a protective cage. To avoid the embarrassment of having to look him in the eye after being fully exposed the way he was, Peeta strained upwards and kissed Cato firmly, immediately handing over control when the career licked his lips and asked for entrance.

While they kissed, Cato slid his hand down the boy's chest and stomach before taking a gentle but firm hold onto his erect member. Peeta gasped, his back arching into Cato as he began to stroke him, and had to throw his head back onto the pillow in pleasure. Cato smiled, pressing gentle kisses up his neck and across his adam's apple, listening to the gasps and groans like he was listening to fine music.

"I need you to suck on these," he said gently, pressing his fingers against Peeta's plump lips.

"W-why?" he whispered. His face screwed up and he groaned as Cato slid his thumb over the head while reassuming his ministrations on his neck.

"It'll ease the pain," Cato murmered in reply, using all his energy to make sure he was giving the most mindblowing handjob he'd ever given.

Unsure why but knowing Cato knew what he was doing, Peeta took his fingers into his mouth and nervously sucked on them, his tongue lapping at the digits like he was licking a lollipop. Cato groaned and reluctantly pulled them out, a thin string of saliva snapping in it's wake. He wormed his hand underneath the blond and started massaging his entrance.

Peeta whimpered. "This is how it's done?" he whispered fearfully.

"Yeah," Cato replied, nuzzling his neck to comfort him. "It's going to be alright though."

When the first finger pushed in, Peeta groaned and bolted his eyes shut. Cato stroked his face affectionately, murmering sweet nothings and often repeating himself. He added a second finger and Peeta cried out in pain, hips rising off the bed in an attempt to ward off the pain. Cato's heart hurt as he pushed his hips back down onto the bed so he could find his pleasure point quickly. It was difficult due to the younger's constant squirming and painful whimpering that made him just want to pull out and stop.

He was about to, too, but just as he was about to give up his fingers brushed something and Peeta's whimpers dissolved into a moan. Cato worked the spot as vigiourously as he could, wishing to banish the painful cries from his mind and replace them with the gorgeous harmony that was Peeta's moans.

"Cato," he purred, pawing at the career's hair desperately.

"What, beautiful?" Cato asked, kissing his parted lips.

"I'm r-ready."

"You sure?"

He nodded, arching his back in desperate search of frction, rubbing himself against Cato's own excitement to relieve the pressure. The career's eyes rolled behind his head and he moaned, guiding Peeta's mouth to his own as he discarded his own underwear. He pushed the younger's knees up and alinged his member with the boy's tight entrance.

And pushed in.

Peeta screamed in pain, botling up and banging into Cato. The sound ripped through Cato's ears and he winced, wrapping his arms around him and stroking his back comfortingly. "Sssh," he soothed, showering his face with kisses. "The pain will pass." Peeta choked on a sob and shoved his fist into his hand, his spare arm wrapped desperately around Cato's neck.

Cato resisted the urge to move. There was no doubt that Peeta was a virgin, he was too tight to be otherwise. His dick throbbed inside him, the friction already causing his want to thrust even stronger. He continued soothing Peeta regardless, brushing his hair off his face and kissing his temple.

Eventually, Peeta wiggled a bit, breathing heavily as the pain passed. "Can you move?" he asked softly.

Smiling, Cato nodded, laying him back down on the bed before pulling out and pushing back in. Peeta moaned, wrapping his legs around Cato's waist and pulling him closer. "You like that then?" the career chuckled.

"Yes," Peeta said breathlessly.

Cato thrusted a bit harder and groaned as fire coursed up his veins. He felt privelleged as he watched Peeta's face contort in pleasure, knowing that now it belonged to him. Peeta Mellark's purity was his property and no one could take it from him. He smiled.

Being a virgin, Peeta couldn't hold on too long. "Ca-Cato," he mewled, hips rising to meet every one of the career's thrusts. "I think I'm gonna-" He choked and threw his head back in pleasure, physically unable to finish the sentence.

Cato, keen to help, took his arousal and stroked him softly. Peeta gasped, beads of sweat slowly making their way down his neck. He bowed off the bed as he came with a scream, spilling his seed everywhere. He fell back on the bed, completely spent. Cato considered pulling out and finishing himself off with his hands before the exhausted boy beneath him resumed his job of raising his hips.

"You need to finish too," Peeta said, groaning with effort. He worked hard to not let himself drop out from fatigue, thighs clenching around Cato's waist in desperation.

Cato groaned as his climax neared, smashing his mouth against Peeta's in a sheering kiss. He helped him thrust up, holding onto his hips as they kissed. He bit the boy's lip as he came, groaning and spilling into the no longer virginal entrance. He fell against Peeta, pinning him down against the mattress and let his head fall on his chest.

"How was your first time?" he murmered.

Peeta was panting, sweat dripping from his bangs and down the sides of his face. "A-astoundingly perfect," he stuttered. Cato smiled and pressed a kiss to his chest. "I've never experienced a-anything like that before."

"I think that's what being a virgin means," Cato teased.

Peeta laughed. "Shut up," he chuckled.

Cato grinned and rolled onto his back, pulling Peeta up ontop of him. "You were amazing, by the way," he murmered, kissing him. Peeta sighed into the kiss as Cato's hands ran down his back, his hands threading into the career's hair.

"Really?" he asked when they pulled apart for air.

"Of course," Cato replied, stating it as a fact.

Peeta was relieved. "I thought I'd mess it up. Like, not be good enough or tight enough or something . . ."

Cato chuckled. "You were perfect," he replied. "You did wonderfully and you were beautifully tight." He let his hand fall onto Peeta's backside, stroking the soft skin delicately. "And I wouldn't worry about being tight anyway, I almost came as soon as I entered you you were that tight."

They lay like that for a while, basking in the blissful afterglow. Peeta's head resting on his chest and Cato's hands exploring every part of the other's body. He had tortourous stamina and would normally fuck someone two or three times before being spent. He tried not to let this show though, trying not to think about how sexy Peeta was and how much he wanted to be inside him again as to not get aroused again too quickly.

"So that's how gay people have sex," Peeta murmered, breaking the silence.

Cato nodded, tracing the line of his spine with his fingertip. "Yup," he said.

"Is that the only way then?" he asked.

"As far as I know, yeah. There's different positions and things like that but only one way to enter, you know?" Cato explained, feeling like a science teacher educating a class on sex.

Peeta frowned. "Positions?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah. You know, like, against a wall, bent over something, doggy style, ecetera," Cato answered.

Peeta laughed. "Doggy style?" he chuckled. "That sounds horrible!"

"Don't knock it till' you've tried it," Cato replied. Peeta lifted his head off his chest and raised his eyebrows. "Obviously not speaking from experience though . . ." He fought to ward off the image in his head of Peeta on his hands and knees on the bed, moaning as he clutched his waist and thrust into him.

"I feel so incompetent," Peeta muttered, laying his head back down. Cato smiled as his silky hair brushed his skin, making him shiver. "Up until now I only ever knew about kissing and how straight people had sex. I didn't even know you could get pleasure from touching a guy's . . ." He trailed off and Cato felt his cheeks heat up against his skin.

"Nipples?" he supplied, suppressing a chuckle when Peeta ducked his head sheepishly.

"Yeah, that. You must have thought I was such a dumbass," he muttered.

"Not at all. I find your innocence very endearing," Cato replied. He itched to be able to pinch the rosy peaks again but restrained himself, wanting desperately to be a gentleman. He ignored the feeling of them scraping against his chest when Peeta would move slightly, trying not to let his mind wander to what sort of noise the boy would make if he sucked them mercilessly until they were raw. _Damn it Cato, get a hold of yourself!_

"It must be so frustrating to be with someone so clueless," Peeta said, tracing a small pattern on Cato's abs with his fingernail. Cato shivered. Never had he been so desperate to have someone a second time in his entire life. "I'm sorry. In 12 it's not customary to be taught about sex and I only knew the basics up until, well, now."

"What about boasting experienced kids?" Cato questioned. "Whispers in the halls of school about fingering behind bleachers or blow jobs in store rooms?"

"Blow jobs?"

Cato gave him a curious look. "Blow jobs," he said slowly. "You do know what blow jobs are, right?"

Peeta shrugged. "Should I?" he asked.

"Uh . . . not nessecarily, I suppose, but I'd have thought . . . Never mind. No, it's not important."

"No, come on, I want to know," Peeta said. "Tell me."

"Uh, okay, it's when someone sucks your . . ." Cato made a gesture with his hand down below the duvet.

Peeta made a disgusted noise. "Oh god, who the hell would want to do _that_? If it was supposed to be sucked, you'd be born with it on your head." Cato laughed. "Ew, I feel sick just thinking about it . . ."

"I'll try not to be offended by that," Cato said.

"You know what I mean," Peeta said. Cato grinned and pecked his cheek. "Couldn't you get like a disease from doing that or something? What if the guy had an STD?"

"Ever seen girls walking around your school with a red mark by their mouth that they claim is a coul sore?" Cato asked.

Peeta thought about it. "One or two," he replied. "Why?"

"They're lying. It's herpes."

"Oh, ew!"

Cato laughed. "You really don't know a lot, do you?" he asked. "Good thing you've got me then. I'm a brilliant tutor."

"At sex?" Peeta asked slowly, propping himself up on his elbows and raising an eyebrow.

"Sex, foreplay, how to make a robot puppet out of a yogurt pot, you name it," Cato answered.

"I'll keep that in mind for when I need robot puppets." He shifted slightly ontop of Cato and rested his head on his shoulder. He sighed and scrunched his eyebrows in deep thought. "I had never expected it to be that enjoyable," he said.

"Why's that?" Cato asked, playing with his silky hair.

"The image Mya had built around it had me thinking it involved restraints and weapons and pain . . . lots of pain," Peeta explained. "She never even hinted at there being anything beyond sadism."

"Yeah, well, Mya's a bit of an a-hole, isn't she?" Cato muttered. "Yeah, sure, some people like bondage and that sort of thing but it's not the only form of sex out there." He thought of Clove's mom, and how her desire for pain was what had made her dad go abstinant. And then he thought of himself. "I used to be a very rough person in bed, always wanting to be in control and demanding."

"When did that change?" Peeta asked quietly.

Cato smiled. "When I met you."

Peeta found himself smiling. "Really?" he asked.

"Really, really."

After that, they chatted about nothing in particular. Just random memories and anecdotes from their lives. Neither spoke of President Snow. Or Mya. Or the fact that Cato was going into the Hunger Games tomorrow. They just spent their last night together getting to know each other in a deeper sense, laughing and kissing and doing nothing heavy. They'd occasionally get caught up in a heated making out session but it never went further before one would end up pulling away with a chuckle, knowing their last night shouldn't only be about sex.

They felt like ordinary people in an ordinary relationship for once in their laughs.

And they forgot to care that it wouldn't last.

_**A/N: Well, what did you think? I'm not the best at writing sex scences but I did my best. Oh, and I apologize for Peeta's cheesy key and lock speech. Feel free to vomit if you so wish.**_

_**On another note. I've got an idea for another Peetato story. It won't be like my other stories on the basis that it won't be dark in the slightest. It's basically a friends with benefits type thing. Anyway, here's a snippet and you can tell me if you think I should write more:**_

_**"You know what they say about friends with benefits," Clove said, flipping her hair behind her shoulder flippantly. **_

_**"And what's that?" Cato asked back, playing with the straw in his drink so it stirred up the ice so they swirled around in circles. **_

_**Clove shrugged. "It doesn't work," she said. "Never works. You think it will. You think it'll just be sex and each other's bodies but it nevers ends like that. Either one or both end up wanting more out of it. A relationship. Love, even."**_

_**"Clove, Peeta and I have been friends since before Pre-K," Cato laughed. "We're not going to fall in love."**_

_**The smirk on Clove's face was full of amusement. "Okay, keep telling yourself that. Just don't look at me to believe it."**_

**Yeah, right,**_** Cato thought. **_**Whatever you say, Clove.**

_**~xXx~**_

_**So what do you guys think? Yes, no, maybe, don't know? I won't be starting it immediately but I want to know wehther it'll be worth it or not to keep in the works? (-:**_

_**Please R&R! :D**_


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N: Chapter sixteen! Hope you guys like it! :D**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**_

Chapter Sixteen

Every kill was iniciated with the same thought in mind.

_To get back to Peeta. _

_To get back to Peeta._

_To get back to Peeta._

Cato resisted the urge to wince as he watched Glimmer finish off the last tribute left from the bloodbath which, he realized, really was named well. He examined his sword in slight distaste, the thick scarlet liquid that dripped from the blade no longer the artificial paint from the dummies in Career training. It was the real stuff. There would have been a time when he'd have loved the sight, relished in it even. But now his stomach coiled in a tight knot as images and thoughts ran through his mind. _Did the owner of this blood have a family back home? A life? Friends? A relationship?_ He felt very sick.

Even Clove had an air of animostity as she gathered up supplies that had been dropped or left behind from the Cornucopia clearing. The arena was a forest. The clearing was circled in a sea of trees with the lake and wheat field being the only cut in the wave of greens and browns. Cato knew they'd gotten off lucky. There had been years were each step could mean a booby trap or you couldn't take a single breath without wondering whether it was posioned or not.

The canons fired and Cato jumped in surprise, not expecting the loud sound. It fired eight times, each sound burning into Cato's mind, reminding him that he killed at least a quarter of those people. When had he become so pitiful? What happened to the career who would have laughed at the dead bodies surrounding him?

A part of him was glad that that part of him no longer existed. The blood on his hands wasn't an emblem of courage. It was a sign of fear. Of weakness. He'd taken a life that wasn't his to take and now he was already beginning to be riddled by guilt because of it. Cato didn't know if he'd be able to continue, to keep on taking lives until he was the only one left. Why should he keep up the image of being the horrendous killing machine?

_To get back to Peeta, _he reminded himself.

Oh, Peeta. Cato's heart clenched just at the thought of his name alone. He could see him so clearly in his mind from when he'd left that morning. Lying on their bed, fast asleep, obvlious to his surroundings. Morning sunlight streaming in through the window and settng his blond hair alight so that it glowed like a torch. He didn't wake him up. If he had of woken Peeta up then there would have been no way he would have been able to leave him. He would have fought anyone who had tried to take him away and would never have left Peeta behind.

He wondered what he was doing right now.

Was he watching? Did he witness him killing those tributes? What would he think of him? Would he still love him now he was an official killer? Now that he had the lives of people he barely knew on his conscious?

Of course he would. Peeta wouldn't leave him because of this. It was the only way they could be together. Cato had to fight his way out and he couldn't let himself get annoited with guilt like this. Not after training all his life for this. Not after promising Peeta he'd make it back. Not after all the work and the hardship Snow was putting them through.

Cato clenched his jaw and almost bent the sword in his hands at the thought of Snow. What was he doing with his beloved right this moment? A feeling of helplessness washed over him as he remembered that the President of Panem could make him do anything he wanted to him and there was nothing he could do to stop him. Because he was here and they were there.

"Where's Murdoch?" Glimmer asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"What?" Clove frowned. She was crouched by the body of the girl from District . . . three, was it? The feeling of guilt increased as Cato realized he couldn't even recall what District each tribute was from. Thalassa, who had been cleaning her knife off on her shirt sleeve when she twigged on to the absence of her District partner, paused her actions and frowned.

The five careers met in the middle of the clearing in a wide huddle, making the missing tribute from 4's disappearance more prominant. Thalassa didn't seem half bothered that her partner was gone, very likely assuming he'd gotten too eager and had ran off to find more tributes to kill. That was the thing about Murdoch. He was too impulsive. He had the 'do now, think later' attitude, something not very beneficial in the mind of a career.

"Well this is great," Marvel said, sticking the point of his spear into the soft grassy ground with a dramatic flourish. "I bet you anything he's gone off on a reckless hunt without us."

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Clove said, all business. "Murdoch is a big boy, he can look after himself. If he gets himself into a trussle and gets injured well that's his fault, isn't it? He can't look at us for help now, can he?"

"She's right," Cato said. "Plus, we'd be better off if he did his own thing while we did ours." As he spoke, Glimmer parted off and began to wander around the clearing. She had a bow strapped to her back with an extravangent Capitol quiver of arrows. Cato wondered what she was doing with them, she had the worst aim out of the six of them. Clove shrugged and gave him a _'what are ya gonna do'_ look when he threw her a quizzical look of his own.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Glimmer exclaimed. The four careers turned to find her standing over a body who's face was obscured by a splattering of blood and torn fabric. The girl from 1 screamed in frustration and gave the dead body a kick.

"What is it?" Marvel asked.

"The stupid bastard," Glimmer muttered, walking back over to the group and rejoining the wide huddle. "Well, Murdoch's dead," she said without conviction. "Probably tried to take on the giant from 11 or something." Thalassa hit her forehead with the heel of her hand and groaned while Marvel shook his head in irritance. Clove silently sighed, her eyes shining from the brutal glare of the sun overhead. Cato didn't know how to feel about the siutation. He hadn't known Murdoch too well and yet the knowledge of him being dead didn't seem to process properly.

He supposed he was going to have to grow acustomed to that feeling. Especially since everyone in this arena had to die. Even the four people in front of him.

Clove patted him on the back and restarted her previous job of picking up abandoned supplies. He watched her with a pained expression, knowing well and good that Glimmer, Marvel and Thalassa had to die easily enough but finding it more difficult to come to terms with the fact that so did his best friend. She had to die if he had any hope of ever seeing Peeta again. The knowledge of this ate away inside him.

Night fell quickly. It was made clear that the gamemakers wanted them to clear off so that they could pick up the bodies of the bloodbath victims. So they decided to start their night-time hunt early. It was one of the things you're taught in career training. Hunting at night throws other tributes off guard, making them believe they're safe for another day when in reality they're not. They don't expect it to come.

The dead were projected up into the sky. Cato refused to watch. It was like rubbing it in. Making the voice at the back of your head niggle by hissing, _You could have killed her, or him, or him, or her, or her, or her, or him._ It felt like a punch in the gut.

"We're down one and the Games have barely begun," Glimmer whinged. "Seriously, this is properly horrible."

"Somehow, I believe we'll be alright," Marvel said. Marvel was a complex guy. He was senitmental, forever putting Glimmer on a pedastal that she didn't deserve to stand on. He wasn't a strong believer in violence and, like Cato, didn't seem to be enjoying himself at all. Looking back on it, Cato couldn't even remember how Marvel even won the reaping in 1. He wasn't cut out for killing at all. That was going to be his downfall, Cato could sense it.

They picked their way through the forest, their skilled feet not making a sound as they travelled. It wasn't long before they fell upon an amatuer. Hunched over a fire, Cato could make out the form of a girl who was warming her hands. It was pretty cold-very likely a trick of the gamemakers-and for a small girl like her who hadn't collected anything from the bloodbath and only had the clothes on her back, a fire probably seemed like the only option.

"She's mine," Thalassa breathed, cracking her knuckles in the darkness. Cato winced at the sound. No one even had a chance to argue with her as she climbed out from behind the bushes and made a big deal out of stomping down on a twig. The girl whipped around almost immediately, her face twisting into an expression of fear.

"Please don't kill me!" she blurted out. She fell to her knees by Thalassa's feet and began to plea for her life. The girl from 4 just stood over her, a malicious grin on her face. Cato couldn't help but compare her to a god preparing to damnate an innocent. When she finally got her sick fill, Thalassa grabbed the girl's head and jerked it to the side, snapping her neck as if it was as easy as snapping a biscuit in two.

Cato was very good at keeping an indifferent demeanour on his face but it was hard to miss Marvel's wince as the sound of the girl's bones cracking in half tore through the air. Thalassa turned to them with a gleeful smirk on her face. She dusted off her hands and returned to them as the canon blast through the air. There was no doubt this girl was dead.

They had just started to set off again-Glimmer continuing to avidly moan about how they were going to seem so stupid for having already lost one of their own, Clove following close behind with a bland scowl on her face, Marvel picking at the grass and dirt on the point of his spear and Thalassa leading the way with a lit torch-when Cato just happened to glance up into the trees.

There was someone up there.

Katniss was crouched low on the tree branch, staring at him point blank. He stared back, holding her gaze with an unwavering one of his own. The girl looked angry, the grey of her eyes feeling like it was burning into him with hate. He wondered whether he should point her out and get Glimmer to shoot her down with her bow and arrows, even if the chances were that she'd miss. Katniss' eyes dared him to do it, practically taunted him.

_"Her name is Katniss. And she was only doing what was right for the District. She has a little sister she has to look out for. I'm sure you'd understand that, right?"_

A little sister. Just like himself. A little girl who was rooting for her to come home. He imagined what Kayla would feel if someone had killed him. Feel towards the person who killed him. He thought of that little blonde girl who got reaped before Katniss had. The cries for her sister not to do it, not to take her place. She had been so desperate that the other guy who got reaped for 12 had to take her away. No, he couldn't do it. He couldn't kill her. Someone else would have to do it.

He broke eye contact with her and caught up with the others.

When he reached them, the topic had changed to the tribute party before they had begun training.

"My stylist was amazing!" Glimmer gushed. "Did you see my dress? It was beautiful!"

"Yeah," Clove said, "Beautifully provocative."

"What was that Jettison?" said Glimmer, cupping her hand over ear. "I didn't hear you."

Clove scoffed and shook her head. "I said beautifully provocative. You do realize that they made that dress practically see through so that you'd get sponsers. I bet you anything whatever sponsers you do get are just pervy old men."

"At least I can get sponsers!" Glimmer hissed.

"Okay guys, break it up," Marvel said, intercepting between them both. "Please, no conflict."

"Oh grow a pair, Marvel," Thalassa laughed, obviously enjoying the show. "They're just entertaining some friendly banter. I obviously made the best splash at that party anyway. The sponsers were _all_ over me."

"Oh, please," Glimmer said. "They only went to you because I was busy."

Thalassa laughed, the fire from the torch illuminating her face. "Oh sparkles, how naive are thou really?"

"It's how naive are _you_, idiot!" Glimmer replied.

Clove laughed and face palmed. Even Cato found it difficult not to grin at how thick Glimmer could be sometimes. "Oh, I apologize for the faux pas," Thalassa said dryly. As naive as she was, Glimmer was never one to miss sarcasm. Enraged, she folded her arms and stomped her foot.

"Technically neither of us made the biggest splash!" she said stubbornly. "_We_ didn't end up on the front of the Capitol magazines!"

All eyes turned to Cato. Normally, he'd have been able to handle scrutiny like that but there was something about what happened at that party and how it became so public that made him want to disappear. It wasn't that he was ashamed of it, he was just pissed off that it had become so public.

"Oh, that's right," Thalassa said. "You practically raped your poverty boyfriend at the party."

Cato raised his eyebrows, trying not to get angry. "Raped?" he asked slowly. Marvel took a hesitant step backwards, getting out of the way. By this point he knew preventing conflict was impossible and it was better just to get as far away from the firing line as possible.

"You know what she means," Glimmer said quickly. She may have been the one to bring up the whole magazine thing but she knew better than to antagonize Cato.

"Then again," Thalassa said, not fully realizing what waters she was stepping into, "raping means it's against someone's will. That whore of yours looked like he was enjoying it."

"Hold up Thalassa, what did you just call him?" Clove butted in, pushing past Glimmer before Cato even had a chance to react. He knew Thalassa was just trying to rub him up the wrong way but she was doing a very good job at it. "You did _not_ just call him that!"

Thalassa shrugged. "What? It's not like the people from 10, 11 or 12 are actual people, is it?"

"What are you on 4?" Clove demanded. "Crack? What did you mean they're not people, of course they're people!"

"Not important people," Thalassa muttered.

A memory popped into Cato's head from the previous night. He'd gotten off the bed to put his underwear back on and had turned to face Peeta to tell him something. The boy from 12 had blushed, averting his eyes from him and bunching the quilt covers around himself to cover his own modesty. Cato had teased him about it and Peeta had laughed. That was what he remembered most. The way his head tilted back and some hair fell into his eyes. The prominant dimples that appeared every time he smiled. The beautiful sound that was his laugh.

No-one got to call him a whore.

He walked past Glimmer, Marvel and Clove so that he was standing in front of Thalassa. Being taller than her, she had to strain her neck up to hold eye contact with him. "Say it again," he said in a dangerously low voice. "Call him that again. I dare you." Thalassa didn't respond but she continued to hold his gaze. "Go on then, my ears are open. Speak your mind Thalassa, we're all friends here."

"You heard me," Thalassa said indignantly.

"Yes, I did. And if I hear you say that word in the same sentence as him again I will not be as leaniant towards how I will react. Do I make myself clear?"

No answer.

"Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear. Thalassa?"

Thalassa's eyes narrowed into a glare but she nodded anyway.

Cato smiled at her. "Great." He turned on his heel to head in the opposite direction. Clove fell into step beside him, a smirk on her face. She was thoroughly amused.

"Watch your back Hadley, you're not the leader of this pack," Thalassa called behind them.

"Very poetic, Thalassa!" Clove called back.

Marvel, relieved for the fighting to be over, followed after them with Glimmer in tow. Thalassa, who lingered at the back, fuming, soon caught up with them, keeping her mouth shut as they walked.

"What do you think he's doing right now, Cato?" Glimmer asked conversationally. "In the Capitol, I mean. I bet he's enjoying the luxury, right?"

Cato felt a stab in his heart. He knew Glimmer was just trying to be nice but it still hurt to think about. Of course there was going to be luxury for Peeta back in the Capitol but not the enjoyable kind of luxury. Mya was still back there. So was Snow. They were back there with him and could do whatever they wanted now that they weren't together anymore.

"Yeah," he said, pretending to sound upbeat about it. "I'm sure he is."

He felt a hand slip into his and he turned to find Clove giving him a sympathiec smile. She understood everything that was happening. "He's going to be fine, I promise," she said quietly. Cato wished he could believe her, he really did. But Clove was notorious for her lies. She had been ever since she had convinced their entire third grade class that she was pregnant by an escaped District 3 boy who had been captured by the Capitol. She'd been doing it ever since. Maybe not in such large porportions but she still did it. And Cato knew, in that moment that she was lying.

She was lying to save his sanity.

~xXx~

The puppet master had regained control.

As he entered the party, Peeta could almost feel the strings get attached to his limbs, ready to command him to do as they pleased.

The Capitol sure liked to celebrate everything. The celebration of the tributes being reaped, the party when the tributes arrived, the street parties the night before the games and now this. A party to celebrate the launch. A party in which he was invited to. Except recieving an invitation gives you the choice of whether to decide to come or not. Peeta had no such choice. Mya had arrived, handed him the evelope with an already signed RSVP slip.

He tried not to think of Cato. It was hard, but he tried. It hurt to pretend like he didn't care that he never got a chance to say goodbye but it was the only option. The Capitol don't want to see a mopey boyfriend. They want a happy, laughing man who didn't give a damn where his other half was while still being able to spout out random lines about love. They certainly had high expectations.

There were so many people at this party that Peeta felt immediately insecure, not having Cato to cling to for support. He resisted the urge to bless himself as he weaved through the crowd with his head ducked, not wating to be noticed at all. He wasn't religious at all but it seemed to be the only sensible thing to do. He'd never thought to consider the idea that there really was a god out there, especially after what happened last year. Surely if there was a god, he wouldn't let awful people like Mya roam the earth, right?

"Peeta!"

His head snapped up in surprise. President Snow came towards him, a rarity of smiles on his face. He clasped Peeta's hand warmly and shook it. "I'm so glad you could make it." His cheerful demeanour for the Capitol partygoers may have seen happy and gleeful on the outside but it chilled Peeta to the bone.

Acting had always been Peeta's skill though, being an extreme expert at lying ever since the kidnapping the previous year. He put a smile of his own onto his face and returned Snow's shake. "My pleasure, thank you for inviting me! I'm honoured!"

"How are you keeping up without Mr. Hadley? I trust you are dealing with it fine?"

Peeta clenched his jaw, teeth grinding together as he bit back on his anger. Oh that was a low blow, even for Snow. Jesus, was he really going to try and break him so soon? "I'm coping just fine, thank you for the concern Mr. President. I believe in Cato and I believe in his capability to win the Games."

A couple of Capitol women passing behind them smiled and went _'aw'._ Peeta resisted the urge to scowl at them. _Haha, yes, how sweet,_ he thought dryly. He could imagine them going off to gossip and squeal with their friends about the Peetato couple and how perfect they were. He really wanted to just go home, especially now. Not back to 12, back to 2. With Cato.

"Well, I am glad," Snow said, smile unwavering. "If you do excuse me I must go and greet some other guests."

"No, it's fine, go ahead," Peeta said. _Go on ahead, I can assure you you will not be missed._

Once Snow had left, Peeta felt slightly more relaxed. God, that man kept him on edge. Looking around himself at the chatting Capitol citizens that were A-list enough to get into Snow's party, he knew he really wasn't in the mood for socializing. He'd much rather be back in the room he'd been relocated to after all the tributes left the training center, hiding from everyone else and being glued to the t.v screen, living for the small moments where he could see Cato.

He found himself wandering off to the corner of the room where no one else stood. He leant against the wall, picking hairs off of his clothes. He resisted the urge to cry. He had become to need Cato like he needed air. Survival wasn't possible without it. Peeta couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment he had become so co-dependant on him but now that it was the way it was he couldn't imagine life any other way.

"Can you believe Thalassa?" he heard one of the Capitol women saying as herself and her blue haired friend passed without noticing him. "I can't believe she had the gall to call him that!"

"I know, right?" the other said. "She has some freakin' nerve, I can tell you that."

Oh yeah, that's right. Thalassa from 4 thinks he's a whore. Jeez, he was certainly building up a reputation for himself anyway. Boyfriend, innocent, victim, lover, whore, what was going to be next? Was this really how he wanted himself to be viewed? What had he even done to leave such a disgusting impression on Thalassa anyway? He had never even spoken to her before let alone spent enough time with her for her to think he was a whore. He wasn't even able to see Cato's reaction because Mya had switched off the t.v and ordered him out. Had he cared or had he let it slide?

"You're Peeta, right?"

Peeta snapped out of his thoughts to find a man standing in front of him. Collecting himself and putting his fake facade back on, he smiled and stood up straighter. "Yeah, that's me," he said. Mya told him he might get approached by curious citizens. Well, her exact words had been, _There'll very likely be people prowling around to bag your ass while your boyfriend's gone._ Yeah, well, tough for those people. He wasn't betraying Cato. He held out his hand regardless, "Peeta Mellark, pleasure to meet you . . . ?"

"Harold," the man said, shaking his outstretched hand. "Harold Woods."

Peeta froze mid-shake. Woods. Woods. As in _the _Woods? _Mr. Woods?_ He tried to find something else to say but found anything he could possibly bring up melting away inside his head until only one question remained. _Are you the man Mya has been taunting me about?_ He found his heartbeat rising but he kept the smile on his face anyway. He was terrified to let it slip that he knew who this man was.

It didn't matter anway. Mr. Woods could tell that he knew.

"Mya's a lovely woman isn't she?" he said.

Being physically unable to respond, Peeta just stared at the man in horror.

"Need a minute?" Harold asked. "Understandable." He released his hand and leaned against the wall beside him. Peeta stiffened and inched away, trying to be discreet about it. The rest of the party went on, oblvious to there actually being anything wrong with the two people leaning against the wall at the back of the party.

"What are you doing here?" Peeta finally worked up the courage to ask.

Harold raised his eyebrows at the question. "Mya," he replied. "As I've said, she's a wonderful woman."

"Mya can't talk anymore. How can she be the reason you're here?"

"She can write," Harold pointed out. "We've kept in contact over the past year. President Snow is very open to letting Mya do as she wishes. She has a gift, able to manipulate anyone. Except you, obviously. And maybe that Cato guy." Peeta's heart soared just hearing Cato's name but he showed no sign of it on his face.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me why Mya has been taunting me with your name over the past couple of days," Peeta said, picking another long strand of hair off his jacket.

"She hasn't told you, has she?" Harold asked.

"Well, I doubt I'd be asking if she had."

Harold chuckled, shaking his head in slight disbelief. "She always liked to leave most of the work to her buyers." The way he had said the word 'buyers' so casually made Peeta's skin crawl and he suppressed a shudder. "I, my dear Peeta, am the man that was going to buy you before Miss Mya's business went bust. Before Mort was killed and she was arrested and before you were so terribly injured that you are now permanantly cursed with the accessory of a cane."

Peeta glanced down at the cane in his right hand. He'd never considered it an accessory until they had insisted on encrusting it with the diamond that now sat on the top. "So my scarring injury was what put you off then?" he asked hopefully.

"On the contrary, I think the cane distinguishes you. Adds to the image of poor, helpless boyfriend," Harold replied.

"I'm not helpless," Peeta replied indignantly. "And I'd rather if you didn't call me poor either."

"Whatever you say, baby," Harold said, not even looking at him. Peeta recoiled as if he'd been slapped. Noticing his disgusted face and grinned. "Better get used to it, babe. You and I are going to be getting to know each other pretty well over the next few weeks." The implications in that single sentence made Peeta sick to his stomach.

Harold moved away from the wall and cornered him up against the wall so he was boxed in. Peeta winced as he smelt the alochol on the man's breath, turning his face away from him in repulsion. Mr. Woods took it as an oppurtunity to whisper in his ear. "I will get what I paid for, you know. I _always_ get what I pay for."

"I'll never betray Cato," Peeta replied defiantly. He gasped as Harold skimmed his nose up his jaw teasingly, swallowing hard and fighting back the need to kick the man in the balls and scream rape.

Harold chuckled in amusement. "Keep thinking that, baby. But I've got a job to do, orders from Snow himself." He nibbled on the younger boy's earlobe, taking the soft skin between his teeth and tugging on it. Peeta winced and tried to calm his stomach, which was churning and forcing bile up his throat.

"What's the job?" he found himself asking. Well, more like gasping.

Harold pulled back and looked him dead in the eye. "Start a love triangle," he answered.

Peeta was horrified but before he could even blink, let alone answer, Harold's mouth was on his, forcing him back flush against the wall. Never one to waste time, the man reached down and grabbed his crotch through his pants, giving him a rough squeeze. Peeta squirmed underneath him while also trying to keep up a pattern of finger snapping as old memories resurfaced.

"I love you so much, baby," Harold said, the mocking tone being only visible to Peeta's ears. He scowled and slapped him across the face, pushing him backwards and away from him. He was surprised when Harold let go of him quite easily.

"I don't want you," Peeta snapped, pointing at him threateningly. "I only love Cato."

He then fled from the party, pushing past the spectators and onlookers until he was outside again, shivering against the cold. It was only then did he realize why Harold had stepped back so easily. Once he had, Peeta had snapped at him, loud enough for at least half of the party to hear. If they began to believe that Harold had an unrequited love for him and spread the word across the city then it would create exactly what Snow had wanted off of Mr. Woods.

This is what was going to happen while Cato was in the Games. The most cliche and oldest trick in the book that was perfect for the citizens of the Capitol. President Snow had created a love triangle and Peeta could almost sense what his job was going to be while Cato was gone. Something he didn't want to do at all.

He was going to have to play along.

_**A/N: Just for the record: Love triangles make me sick. Although, I suppose this one is going to be interesting since Peeta doesn't love Harold at all and only has eyes for Cato, if you know what I mean?**_

_**As for the timeline in the arena, I'm going to go with the Hunger Games Movie's timeline as it's easier to follow than having to flick through the book and count out the days.**_

_**I hope you don't mind the OC's Thalassa and Murdoch. They're just the careers from District 4, since they weren't named in the books themselves since the boy died at the bloodbath and the girl gets killed with Glimmer. **_

_**Also, don't panic guys, I'm not planning on writing the friends with benefits story until I'm nearly completely finished this fic or nearly finished (:**_

_**Please R&R! :D**_


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

"Are you kidding me?!" Peeta exclaimed.

Mya stood infront of him with the widest smile he'd ever seen on her face. Her whiteboard was tucked under one arm and a magazine was held in the other. Of course, the Capitol never bothered to consider that Harold was anything but another possible suiter. And, as citizens of the Capitol always did, they blew the thing out of proportion.

_"They're all very excited for some drama,"_ Mya wrote in an upbeat fashion. _"They love it! You should hear the names they're coming up with! Are you Team Peetato or Team Heeta?"_

"There's teams now? Are you kidding me?!" Peeta asked, his eyes wide in horror.

_"I know. It sounds like a cheesy plot of a YA novel,"_ Mya said._ "Still, they love it so Snow doesn't complain. You should be greatful, Mellark. You can have your pick between two insanely attractive guys!"_

Peeta wrapped his arms around his knees insecurely and closed his eyes. "That's not the point and you know it. Snow has failed at making his triangle. There's only me and Cato. And Harold is wayyy over there, in a corner on his own."

_"You're an actor Mellark, I'm sure you can handle it."_

"No, I can't," Peeta replied. "I love Cato, I'm not pretending to also be in love with someone else while he's fighting for his life. And even if I did, I can't pretend to like him in that way because I'm clueless. The only reason I was able to complete my last job was because I was with Cato. He helped me get through it! I somehow _can't _imagine this Harold man being as considerate! He couldn't keep his bloody hands off me as soon as he got the chance!"

Mya grinned. _"I see you've already caught on to Harold's character type."_ She twirled her marker around her fingers gleefully. Her hair fell into her eyes and she quickly brushed it back behind her ear. _"Mr. Mellark what you need to understand is that this man hasn't had sex ever since he was too old to fuck teens. He's been given a chance to have you and I'm sure he's ready to burst at the seams with sexual frustration."_

"Too old to have intercourse with teens . . ." Peeta said slowly. "How old is he?!"

_"Twenty six. Well,"_ Mya smirked,_ "that's what he tells people."_

"Snow is selling me out to a twenty six year old?!" Peeta exclaimed. "I'm sixteen! Surely the Capitol will see something wrong with that!" He was sitting at the end of his bed and Mya was leaning back against the wall across from him, just by the door. "You can tell Snow to shove it. If Harold comes near me again I'm going to beat him to death with my cane."

Mya burst out laughing, the sound falling upon the ears like the sound a strangled frog would make. _"I suppose you don't care as much for Cato as I'd first thought."_

"That's not fair! You know I love him!" Peeta yelled, his hands clenching into fists. "I DON'T WANT HAROLD!"

_"You don't have to want him, you just have to pretend."_

Now they were going to use this against him? His ability to lie? Was there anything he was ever going to be able to keep to himself without them finding out about? Peeta was suddenly glad that he had never painted while in the Capitol. Or did anything artistic. Who knew what they would do with it . . . But then again, who knew what the Capitol knew . . . He certainly didn't.

_"You screamed in your sleep last night."_

The new words on Mya's board made Peeta cringe. "I scream when I have nightmares," he told her. "You know that from the times in your basement."

_"No, you were screaming in pain. Night terrors, my dear boy. Without your dearly beloved you suffer night terrors. Oh it's so painful to watch, it punches me right in the heart."_ Mya puts on a sarcastic face and places a hand on her chest, right where her heart would rest underneath. _"Now, if you're not going to co-operate I'm going to tell a publicist that the screams that's been heard inside this building at night is you screaming in frustration over the choice of whether you love Cato or whether you love Harold."_

"You wouldn't!" Peeta exclaimed.

_"Wouldn't I?"_ Mya quirked an eyebrow. Peeta fell silent. Of course she would. _"There you go, finally coming to terms with it. Oh yeah, by the way, Snow wants Harold to come over so that the paps can get photos of him coming into the building."_

"He certainly thinks all this out," Peeta muttered. Knowing that if he put up a fight about this it could cause the death of Cato, he sighed and nodded. "Fine, he can get the photos of him going into the building but he can stay the hell away from me. There's plenty of rooms in this apartment building, he can stay in a different one. If he comes anywhere near me, I'm going to beat him with the cane and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Mya rolled her eyes but nodded. She turned on her heel and left the room without another word. Peeta groaned and fell onto his back on the bed. He thought he would have been able to handle anything Snow threw at him, as long as he was left alone to do it. His acting skills only worked as long as he wanted to do what he was pretending to do. He didn't want to pretend to love anyone but Cato. Except he _did_ love Cato and didn't need to pretend.

"Oh, god," he said, rubbing his eyes. He rolled over on the bed and grabbed the remote control off the pillow. He switched on the t.v and saw footage of Katniss stumbling through the forest, using a branch as a walking stick. Judging from her facial expression and her raspy gasping, she was dehydrated and dying. Peeta's heart skipped a beat and he sat up again, watching in horror as she fell to the ground and didn't move for what felt like forever.

"Come on Katniss," he murmered, praying she'd get up. "Come on." There was a pause and then she stirred again. She slung herself back up to her feet and continued to stumble on. The footage cut away to the careers who were trekking through the forest on a hunt. Peeta vaulted off the bed and got as close to the screen as he could without being physically pressed against it.

He kept his eyes on Cato the whole time, watching as he travelled alongside Clove. It was one of those cut away shots just to see how everyone was getting on so they were only on for at least a minute. As soon as he was gone, Peeta lost his interest, heart sinking and a feeling of dread washing over him. It had only been a day and he was already missing him so much that it physically hurt.

There was a creak behind him and he suspected it was Mya coming to torment him more. She always got a kick out of it and with having no one to make fun of for so long, she certainly took pride in how well she did it now. She especially loved it when she'd find him in front of the t.v watching the Games.

"Go on then, laugh. Cato was on the t.v and I had to run at it," he said, whirling the remote around in circles, not bothering to turn around. "Write all the jokes you like but don't expect me to turn around and read them."

"I would, but I haven't got a pen."

Peeta's blood turned to ice in his veins and he didn't turn around in fear of what was behind him. "I told Mya not to let you in here," he said, his voice hard.

"Oh, I know, she told me. She said that you said you'd beat me with your cane. I doubt this is the truth because, let's face it, you don't have the gumption to do something like that. Although, in saying that, I did see what happened at the District 2 reaping. Very impressive indeed."

"Well, I can assure you I wasn't trying to please anyone," Peeta replied dryly. "And I will hit you if you come near me. I'm not doing some stupid love triangle."

"President Snow told me you were an amazing actor," Harold said. Bed springs creaked and Peeta knew he had sat down. The fact made him uncomfortable because it meant he intended to stay longer than nessecary. "And it's not everyday you can get a compliment out of Snow so he obviously wasn't lying. Has Mya explained to you about how it doesn't matter if you don't want me or not, it's all just an act?"

"It's obviously not an act on your part," Peeta said as he watched Gale set up a snare on the t.v screen. The guy had gotten a couple of useful things at the Bloodbath, managing to kill the District 4 male Murdoch and get away nearly completely unscathed.

Harold chuckled. "Well, yes, it's not an act on my part but that's not the point. I can act in love with you emotionally when in reality it's just physically."

"Oh well, you certainly know how to make a guy feel special," Peeta muttered dryly. "Come up with any more lines like that and I mightn't be able to contain my raging love for you. It's such a shame I'm so confused like a proper damsel in distress."

"Mya said you'd use sarcasm as a first defense," Harold pointed out. "They say experts in sarcasm can't pretend because they're so skeptical about everything and don't like the idea of faffing around with the thoughts of 'pretend' or 'imagination'. They truely are the saddest form of person."

"I can pretend," Peeta replied. "Believe me, if Cato's life is on the line, I will petend." He sat up straighter, eyes still glued to the screen, before coughing and putting on a strained voice. "Why do you have to make everything so difficult Harold? I love Cato, can't you see that? Can't you just get over me and discover a life of your own and let us live ours?"

"I could never get over you, you know that. I know you feel the same about me and I'm never going to leave as long as you do," Harold said, putting on a voice of his own that gave away the undertone of acting that would only be noticable to the ears of those who knew the truth.

The bed springs creaked again and Peeta knew Harold was standing up. Not wanting to feel any more vulnerable than he already did, he stood up and turned around, squaring up to him. Harold could have been seen as an attractive man, he supposed. Lean but muscled with chocolate brown hair that was scruffy but in an organized sense, he wasn't hard on the eyes. But when someone is pure evil, you can just see it in the way they hold themselves. With arrogance and the type of confidence that makes you sick to your stomach.

"Snow was right, you're not bad," Harold said.

"I'll do anything for Cato," Peeta replied.

"Seems so." Harold glanced out the window that was located just behind the t.v, out into the streets of the Capitol. "There's a pap in the building across from us."

Peeta looked out the window as well and squinted, unsure of where this 'pap' was supposed to be. Night had fallen and the sky was ink black, the stars blotted out by the artifical bulbs of the street lamps lining the city's pavements. "Where?" he asked, not believing it.

"Fourth floor, perfectly level with your room. You probably won't see them. I had enhanced eye surgery as a child and can see almost anything," Harold explained.

"Why are they there?" Peeta asked stupidly.

"Uh, I don't know, maybe to see what your secret ingredient in your cheese buns are?" Harold said sarcastically. "They're obviously stalking you, dummy. You are one half of the city's power couple after all and they did just catch me walking into your building. They very likely want to know why. The next segment in the magazines are probably going to be more in favour of the Heeta shippers."

"Heeta is a stupid name," Peeta muttered.

"It is, isn't it? I was hoping more for Parold or Moods, you know? Oh, or Wellark! They would have least been a bit better." There was a pause where Peeta just stood there, glaring into Harold's brown eyes with as much loathing as he could put into the look. "You do realize we're going to have to do something now for the pap, right?"

"Like what?" asked Peeta cautiously.

"We need to make them think we're doing something. We can't be just talking casually, I mean, you did slap me and then storm out of the party last night. Maybe make it look like I'm here to apologize or something for trying to take advantage last night," Harold suggested.

"Oh, and then I don't forgive your sorry ass, beat you to death with my cane and then continue to wait in sober solitude until the day Cato comes back to me," Peeta finished, already lifting his cane into the air. Harold rolled his eyes and grabbed the end of the stick, preventing it from getting any higher.

"Just play along," he said. "Or your partner with suffer," he added as an afterthought. "We don't need to actually start arguing about anything, we can just make it look like we are. Like I can move my arms like this-" He started making gestures with his hands that suggested he was saying something important-"without actually saying anything to do with the gestures I'm making."

"You know you actually could apologize," Peeta pointed out indignantly, putting his cane back down to the floor as his leg began to hurt and leaned against it heavily. "For last night, I mean."

"Why would I apologize for something I'm not sorry about?" Harold asked. He reached out and took Peeta's hand, ignoring his flinch, and kissed it, adding to the image of apologetic love interest. There was a flash across the street and it was made obvious that the paps were definitely watching the 'agrument' through their cameras. Why were the Capitol so dependant on their magazines and gossip anyway? It was ridiculous.

He pulled back and smirked, not releasing his hand and holding it between them. "What happened to beating me with your cane?"

Peeta gritted his teeth, trying not to lose his cool. There would have been no possible way he would have been able to buck up the courage to beat him up with his stick but it was still irritating to be teased about it. "You just watch what you do with your hands and I'll let you off," he warned, trying to sound dangerous but failing and just sounding debilitating.

"Watch what I do with my hands?" Harold echoed. "You mean, don't do things like this?" He reached out and cupped his hand over Peeta's cheek. Peeta winced, having to force himself not to turn away from the touch. He kept repeating the same mantra in his head.

_To keep Cato safe._

_To keep Cato safe._

_To keep Cato safe._

"Or this?" His other hand wound around his waist and pulled him closer against his body. "Is this what's going to make you beat me then?"

"Y-yes," Peeta stuttered, hand clenching on the diamond on his cane desperately, his mind screaming at him to just do it. To whack the cocky idiot around the head with the damn stick.

"Go on then," Harold said, his face dangerously close now. The camera across the road was flashing like strobe lights at a rave by now. Weren't the paparazzi's cameras supposed to not have a flash so that they were well enough hidden and weren't spotted? "Do you forgive me?" he asked in a mocking voice.

"No," Peeta replied irritablely.

"Good."

Harold pressed his mouth against his in a burning kiss. The shock of it made Peeta gasp and he took the oppurtunity to shove his tongue down the boy's throat. The hand around his waist slid down and rubbed his backside, pushing his hips forward so they brushed against his own. Peeta felt nothing. No butterflies. No arousal. No need for more once it stopped. Nothing. In fact, he felt very numb the entire time. Even though he felt nothing, he knew when it had to stop. So, putting a childish smile onto his face, he pulled back and hit Harold's arm, making it look like he had just made a joke.

"They've seen enough," he said through the gritted teeth of the smile, heading towards the window. He yelped as Harold smacked his ass when he passed, looking over his shoulder at him with a glare before turning back to face the window with a smile for the cameras. He then proceeded to shut the curtains. "Now get out of my room," Peeta demanded now that there was no one watching them.

"Mmm hmm, okay, in a minute," Harold said, examining his nails. "Snow also told me to send you a message."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"The biggest magazine in the Capitol is the Capitol Couture mag. They want you in for a photo shoot for a spread they're doing on the 'love triangle'. They're going to interview you on it so you better bring your A game tomorrow." He winked and turned on his heel to leave. There was a pause and he turned back around. "You're not allergic to paint, are you?"

Peeta raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Harold shrugged. "They're going to work the sensitive, artistic baker angle _really _hard to contrast your personality to your love interests. The brutal career from District 2 and the handsome business man from the Capitol. Most of the shots are already planned out but Snow told me to make sure your skin wouldn't go blotchy if paint touched you."

"What exactly are they planning for this Capitol Couture spread?" Peeta asked apprehensively.

"Just the usual."

That wasn't reassuring in the slightest. What 'usual' meant in the Capitol was probably very different to what 'usual' meant in 12 or 2 or any other district. In a city where every citizen was dressed like an lumionous bike reflector with ridiculous styles of clothes, what did 'usual' mean? And the fact that he had to get asked about whether his skin would react to paint or not was quite worrying indeed.

"Doesn't matter anyway," Harold said. "The paint shoot is last so it wouldn't matter whether your skin broke out or not."

"Why can't they interview you or something?" Peeta demanded to know.

"Because I'm not the epicenter of this love triangle," Harold explained. "I could give my opinion on this 'relationship' until the cows came home but the Capitol would take it as a very one sided interview. You have to go out tomorrow, take the photos and have the interview, telling your story about both Mr. Hadley and myself both wanting you."

"And they could actually be bothered to read rubbish like that?"

"Seems so," Harold replied with a causal shrug. He jumped forward and pecked Peeta's cheek, grinning when he recoiled back in disgust. "Good luck tomorrow and remember not to be biast." He winked again before leaving completely. Peeta sighed in relief for him to finally be gone, sitting down on the bed and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Harold suddenly popped his head back around the door, making him jump. "My room's across the hall if you need me." With that, he disappeared for the rest of the night.

Peeta spent the next ten minutes just glaring at the door. Harold was such an infuriatingly arrogant man!

He glanced at the t.v again. Katniss had found water, thank goodness, and was resting by a small creek. Peeta tried to remember what it was like to be friends with her but it seemed so distant, like it was a hundred years ago. He lay down on his side on the bed and mindlessly stared at the screen, only paying attention when Katniss or the careers were on. A lump would grow in his throat when he saw Cato on the t.v, wishing he could reach in and pull him out of that horrible place.

But he couldn't.

He was on his own.

~xXx~

"Hello Mr. Mellark, I'm Cinna, District 12's stylist. I'm also your stylist for today's shoot."

Peeta shook the man's hand dutifully. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the chill in the room and he suppressed a shiver. "Pleased to meet you Cinna," he said, smiling in what he hoped was a convincing way.

"You don't have to pretend around me," Cinna said, gesturing to his smile. "I know the truth and what you must be going through. I'm very sorry. Don't feel like you have to pretend in any way that you're happy with all this." Relief washed over Peeta and his second smile was a bit more geunine.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"I know this all must be very hard on you but I promise I'm not one of them," Cinna assured him, taking a silver box out from underneath a table and setting it on top. "Well, _I am_ one of them but I don't support what they're doing to you in the slightest. I wanted you to know I'm on your side." Peeta nodded, not sure whether to be comforted or annoyed with the stylist's pity. All he knew for sure was that he wanted this over and done with as quickly as possible.

"The first shoot is going to be playing up the 'baker from 12' bit," Cinna explained, pulling various pots and sticks of make up out of the silver box. "Capitol Couture is known for it's eccentric designs and provocative ideas. What the photographer wants me to do is put you in this ridiculous costume and do your make-up." Cinna glanced back at the costume bag hanging on the door. "Just for the record, I didn't design that."

He uncapped a pot of body polish and set it down on the table. He looked hurt as he looked at Peeta sympathiecally. "I need you to take your shirt off, if that's alright." Peeta could tell from the look in Cinna's eyes that he knew about Mya and the kidnapping as well. He began to wonder who would have told him before he realized that he would have been Katniss' stylist. Would she have told him about it?

"It's fine," he said, grabbing the hem of his sleep shirt and pulling it off. He still felt insecure, sitting there, bare chested, but knew that Cinna was only doing his job. The stylist applied the body polish to his torso and when that was done and his skin looked flawless, he took a thin paintbrush out of the box.

"You're an artist, right?" Cinna questioned. Peeta nodded, somewhat hesitantly. "Well, paint your arms and torso to look like there's flour stuck to your skin." He handed Peeta the brush. When Peeta gave him a skeptical look, Cinna smiled encouragingly and pushed a pot of powedered paint towards him. "While you do that, I can sort out your hair."

Peeta took the paintbrush with a shaky hand. It was nice to hold a brush again in what felt like forever. The last time he painted, it was in 2 when he'd painted on his arm in Cato's underground training area. He jumped at the chance to keep his mind off what he had to do today and painted the best flour dustings as he could manage. Cinna then worked on his hair, combing it back and working some of the flour subsitute into it.

"Does this photographer realize that myself or my brothers would have gotten a slap if we were this messy with the flour?" Peeta asked.

Cinna chuckled. "I guess not," he replied. He stepped back and tilted his head as he studied Peeta carefully, mentally working out what was missing and what he stil needed to do make-up wise. "Okay, let me tilt you head up." He tipped his chin up so his face was bathed in the overhead light. Peeta shut his eyes against the harsh blare from the light bulb, extinguishing it to a dull glow behind his eyelids.

"Just need to do a couple more things," Cinna murmered. Peeta felt a brush tickle his cheeks and chin and he forced down a shudder. Something was then pencilled along his eyes and along the outline of his lips. "You're lucky you're such a beautiful little thing," the stylist said. "I don't have to do a lot to pronounce your features." He smudged something just underneath his cheekbones, touching up areas that went a big askew. "I suppose the District 2 prep team got near you at one point."

Peeta nodded, trying not to disturb Cinna's work. "Yeah, they did."

"I'm sure you were just as handsome before then as well. No wonder you have so many suiters chasing you." Peeta cracked a curious eye open but Cinna just smiled at him. "It's okay, I know it's Mr. Hadley you're in love with, I don't need convincing. Harold is only a publicity image, that much is clear to me. Except maybe the fact that he does seem to think you're a pretty thing as well."

"Pretty," Peeta scoffed. "More like sex object."

"You're too innocent to be a sex object," Cinna said, completing the finishing the last touches. "Your eyes just scream of purity. It's not a bad thing, it's quite an endearing thing, actually. But sadly this shoot isn't designed for the innocuous." He smiled miserably. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Peeta sighed.

Cinna still had an air of misery as he took the costume bag off the door and unzipped it. There was a _very_ small looking apron and ink black jeans. "I know it's very sterotypical of the costume designer but I sadly didn't have an input. If I was allowed to have desgined it, I would have covered a lot more skin and made it much more tasteful."

"Someone's going to take photos of me wearing that?" Peeta asked, scrunching his nose up.

"I'm afraid so. And I'm sure you've heard the term 'pretend' being thrown around a lot the past couple of days?" Cinna asked. Peeta nodded glumly. "Well, you're going to have to act as hard as you can during this. I know it'll probably be hard but . . . you need to act like you _want_ to be here doing this."

"I understand." Peeta knew this was important. He had to do it right because Cato's life was in the balance. It was a do or die situation. If he didn't do this properly then Snow could kill Cato with a snap of his fingers. Cinna helped him get the clothes on (the jeans needing quite a bit of tugging). The pants were uncomfortably tight and Peeta tried not to squirm and pick at the fabric. Cinna did his best to make it look a bit better, making adjustments here and there.

Cinna made him comfortable, the photographer, however, did not.

"Well, don't you look spectacular!" the man had gushed, grabbing Peeta's hand and dragging him onto the set as if they were long lost friends being reuntied. Cinna didn't leave which set his mind a bit at ease but was a speck of dust in a desert compared to the nervous jitters that occupied his brain as soon as the photographer started running him through the main idea of the first shoot.

"The basic idea for this first shoot is to express your vulnerablity, being from District 12 and all, in a more enjoyable and provocative way," he explained. Peeta wondered who the enjoyment was for. Snow, Mya, the photographer or the Capitol? The photographer turned to him with a grin. "By the way, I'm team Peetato." He winked and Peeta tried not to pull a face. Well, at least he wasn't one of the deluded citizens who believed that himself and Harold were perfect for each other. That was a plus.

Well, less than a plus but by this point any silver lining he found, he would grab hold of and exploit it's goodness until it seemed like a happier point than it really was.

"Here we go!"

Wow, the set was impressive.

Sure, it wasn't like his family's bakery as it had a much more modern and technological, but seeing any bakery interior in any shape or form was comforting. Peeta ran his hand along the white granite countertop and watched his reflection on the shiny surface. He wondered who set this up, what they used as a set palette and what they based the look of the area off.

"Just hop on and we can get started."

"What? On the countertop?" Peeta asked, blinking in surprise.

"Yeah, go ahead, I just need to set up my camera," the photographer replied, patting the countertop and walking over to where his camera was set up. Peeta looked at Cinna worriedly and found an encouraging smile beaming back at him.

Peeta took a moment to steel himself. Okay, he could do this. He just had to switch off that part of his brain that always got nervous, that always freaked itself out over anything remotely provocative or scary in any way. He had to completely blot out his worries and fears of how whatever he did here was going to go into the Capitol's bestselling magazine for the whole city to see. The mantra came back into his mind like a lighthouse switching on in the darkness.

_To keep Cato safe._

He took a deep breath and heaved himself up onto the countertop. As he sat there waiting for the photographer to fix up the camera, he focused on blotting out the over cautious part of his brain. Eventually, he felt anesthetized, as if nothing worse could possibly come out of this and there was nothing more important than keeping Cato safe. Which there wasn't.

"You ready?"

He opened his eyes to meet the first blinding flash of the camera.

~xXx~

The forest was on fire. Well, sort of. It was obviously for something else.

"They're driving someone towards us!" Thalassa said excitedly, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. Cato would have expected such behaviour from Glimmer, not Thalassa, but for once the blonde girl from 1 was standing quite calmly with the bow strapped to her back. They were standing by a lake they'd stumbled upon earlier, ontop of a cluster of rocks that overhung the water.

"How do you know they're driving them to us?" Cato asked, watching the smoke rising from the trees in the distance.

"Yeah, they don't purposely drive them to careers . . . just a nearby tribute so they can watch a fight," agreed Marvel.

Just as he spoke, someone burst out of the forest and slipped into the water. Thalassa whooped in glee. "It's the girl on fire!" she exclaimed happily. "They're trying to burn her out!" Cato realized with horror that it was indeed Katniss, struggling in the water to catch her breath after having ran through the burning foliage.

"How clever," Clove said dryly.

"Hey flamethrower!" Thalassa yelled. Katniss' head snapped up in shock and she stumbled backwards, falling deeper into the water so it lapped at her neck. "Better start running!" Thalassa took off along the side of the lake, laughing as Katniss scrambled up the bank and into the part of the forest that wasn't on fire.

Cato and the other careers had no choice but to follow Thalassa as she kept chase with Katniss. There was a part of him that hoped that Thalassa would catch up with her and kill her but there was another part that prayed that she wouldn't and Katniss would escape. Because he couldn't help but think of Katniss as anything other than Peeta's best friend. Even if she had sold him out so easily he knew for sure there was a part of Peeta that still loved Katniss as his friend.

Katniss could scale trees like a squirrel. The careers stumbled to a stop at the bottom of the giant oak, watching in awe as she scurried up the bark like a champ.

"That's not going to help you Katniss!" Thalassa yelled teasingly. She looked at Cato. "Go ahead, climb it."

"Why me?" Cato exclaimed, knowing full well that his weight wouldn't hold on a tree like that.

"Training all your life for this and you can't climb a tree!" Thalassa taunted.

"Oh do shut up," Clove snapped. "Glimmer can shoot her down."

Glimmer gave Clove an incredulous look. "I can?!"

"You do have the bow and arrows, dipshit," Clove replied.

Marvel pulled an arrow out of the quiver on Glimmer's back and handed it to her hopefully. "Here," he said. Glimmer reluctantly took the arrow and loaded the bow, holding it up to point at the girl in the tree. Katniss was giving Cato that look again. The 'go ahead' look that showed him how much she really loathed him. Why she loathed him, Cato still didn't know.

Glimmer inevitablely missed. Cato wasn't sure whether to be surprised or indifferent. The arrow lodged into the tree trunk beside Katniss' hand and the girl pulled it out and waved it teasingly at them. "How's you?" she suddenly called down to them.

"Uh, okay. What about you?" Cato found himself asking back.

Katniss sniffed. "A bit too hot for my liking."

Oh yes, hilarious, very clever Katniss. Ha ha.

"We're going to have to wait her out," Marvel concluded. "She can't come down, it's that or starve to death, right?"

"Yeah," Thalassa agreed. "We can just kill her then."

They set off to work on setting up camp below the giant oak tree where Katniss was currently hiding in. Cato stayed standing below though, just staring up at her. She was grinning at him, masking her natural anger with a faux expression of being calm, cool and collected. It was obviously for the Capitol audience because he knew, for sure, that she was smouldering with anger, hating him.

Always hating him.

As night fell, Marvel built a fire (it was okay for them, no one would dare attack the career camp) and they hunkered down for the night. There was no way Thalassa was going to let them go away to hunt tonight. The girl on fire was the pirority. Cato needed to clear his head so he volunteered for the first watch. He was in desperate need of a think without the others' consistant chattering.

Once they were all asleep and the chatting had died, a blissful quiet fell over the camp. The only sound being from the crackling of the fire and the hum of crickets. Cato wished it would stay like that forever but he knew eventually someone would wake up and insist he go to sleep while they take their turn at watching.

It was only day two and Cato missed Peeta terribly. It was like there was a giant piece of him missing when he wasn't with him. A gaping hole in his being that felt like it was never going to be filled again. The hole ached like no pain he had ever felt before. Never mind when he had broken his arm after falling off the roof of his Uncle's shed when he was five or when he fell out of the top bunk and split his head open when Kayla and himself were spending the weekend at their aunt's, _nothing_ matched up to the agony he was experiencing every moment he was away from Peeta. Every moment he spent knowing that Snow was doing something to do him, knowing that the President had been plotting something since day one, knowing that there was a great possibility that Peeta would not be able to handle it ate him up inside like a parasite that fed off his termoil.

"What are you doing to him?"

Cato was pulled from his thoughts as the voice broke the peaceful silence. None of the others had spoken, they were all asleep. "Hello?" he asked apprehensively into the empty air.

"I said, what are you doing to him?"

Katniss.

He looked up at saw the girl from 12 sitting in an animal like crouch on the tree branch, grey eyes glowing in the dark. "What do you mean, what am I doing to him?" he asked.

"I saw the photos from the Tribute Party," Katniss hissed. "What else have you being doing to him you piece of scum!"

"Hold on," Cato held up a hand and pulled himself to his feet, stepping back so he could see her properly, "are we talking about _Peeta_ here?"

"No, we're talking about the other boy you raped at the tribute party," Katniss spat acidly.

"I didn't-why does everyone think I raped him!" Cato exclaimed, throwing his hands up helplessly. "I didn't rape him! We started that on a neutral agreement!" He had to be careful not to mention that it was under the orders of Snow. No doubt the cameras were on them right now, since they were talking about their power couple and all.

"Oh sure," Katniss said. She didn't believe a word of it. "Whatever you say!"

"I'm serious!" Cato snapped. "And you can't talk! You were the one who ditched him at the drop of a hat as soon as trouble arose, weren't you? You have no idea how lucky he is that I'm not a molester or rapist-"

"That was different!" Katniss hissed. "I have my sister to look after!"

"And you knew what happened last year!" Cato threw back.

Katniss' face froze and her mouth fell open in surprise. "He told you, about last year?" she asked in disbelief.

"Of course he did, we love each other!" he said. "And yet you knew what happened last year and you never tried to help him, make him feel he could talk about it, you made him feel locked out, as if every one believed there was something wrong with him just because of last year and you went and ditched him as soon as you got the chance! And yet he still defended you even after we were taken into the Capitol. I don't know why, I don't believe you deserve it. Sister or no sister."

Katniss didn't answer.

"So yeah, I took him from his home District, sure. But I love him. And I know that there's no possible way he can love me as much as I love him but I do know he does love me back in some shape or form."

"He loves you?" Katniss scoffed. "He's not gay."

"Try telling him that," Cato contradicted. "I'm sorry that you felt that you had to give him away just to protect your family and I can't say that I wasn't an ass either, treating him the way I did when you first handed him over."

"I didn't hand him over," Katniss protested.

"Of course you did! You dragged him to the platform so quick and hard that he hit you with his cane to get you to let go!"

Katniss slouched and folded her arms in a huff. "That's nothing new. It became such a common thing that I'm co-ordinated myself to know how to deflect the blows! Don't tell me he hasn't hit you with the bloody thing!"

"Actually," Cato said smugly, "he hasn't."

"_What?_" Katniss shook her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Wow. He must . . . he must really fucking love you then." She removed her hand and sent him a look. "It's such a shame he's going to be on his own once I win this, isn't it?"

Cato laughed. "Oh, mark my words Everdeen, I'm going to come back to him. Because I'm winning this for him. My victory is for him. So we can start a proper relationship without all this crap and I'm sorry, but that means you're going to have to die. Everyone here is going to have to die. Because I swear to God, his love is worth fighting for."

His love _was_ worth fighting for.

Worth every single second.

_**A/N: Please R&R with your thoughts! :D**_


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N: Hola Amigos! How's things? Here's chapter eighteen for y'all ^_^**_

_**I got a request for more Harold/Peeta so this chapter revolves around them both.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**_

_**Warnings: This chapter may be very distressing to some people. There's bondage and, what's it called? Dub-con or . . non-con or . . . something along those lines? Okay, there's rape. I'm sorry, I wanted to say it in a nicer way but I didn't know the right name for it. So if that isn't your thing, I'd suggest you give this chapter a miss.**_

Chapter Eighteen

_"Thalassa and Glimmer are dead."_

Peeta winced at the image of both girl's disfigured bodies. Casear Flickerman, unaffected by the sight, talked on regardless about how both of them died, how the tracker jacker venom would have worked in their systems and affected their skin, eventually killing them. Katniss had dropped a nest of the genetic wasps on the career camp, setting all the insects free onto them. Cato-thankfully-woke up first, career instincts making him easy to wake. He leaped off the ground, grabbed Clove around the waist and fled as fast as he could with the slowly waking girl in his arms. Marvel also escaped.

Thalassa and Glimmer weren't as lucky.

The Capitol Courture magazine sent mock copies of the pictures to Peeta's apartment. They sat on the bed in a disorganized pile. He couldn't remember a lot from the shoot. He'd shut off the rational side of his brain so his conscious wouldn't torment him so much during it and it was like his memory had become short term the exact moment he did it. According to Cinna, (he had delivered the photos) they were very professional looking and he looked like an expert model.

No longer wanting to look at the repeated footage of Glimmer and Thalassa's death, Peeta switched off the television and climbed into bed. He needed to sleep. He hadn't slept in what felt like years. Even now, there were patches of make-up glued to his skin and splotches of paint that refused to scrape off. He'd take a proper shower later on but right now he was completely exhausted. Whether it was from the shoot yesterday, the whole YA novel themed teams news or just having to sit and watch Cato fight for his life on the t.v, he wasn't sure.

He didn't even need to get under the covers before he passed out cold.

~xXx~

The first thing he registered when he woke up was that it was late. The room was dark and airy because he'd opened the window the previous night and hadn't thought to close it yet. Still lost in the nebulous world between subcuming back to sleep and coming out into full alertness, Peeta reminisced about what he had dreamt.

Cato wasn't in the Games any more and the love triangle idea didn't exist. They were back home in 2 with Kayla and their parents. President Snow didn't want anything to do with them and left them alone. It was a surreal experience, even for a dream. And yet Peeta could still see Cato's face behind his eyelids now, even though he was awake and everything else was fading.

The world around him though was still opaque. There was still a part of his brain that was stuck in the dream, thinking Cato wasn't in the Games and was there with him, maybe even beside him right that moment if he dared to open his eyes. This part of him dominated his sense of awareness because he wanted it to be real so badly it hurt.

This was probably the reason why he didn't question it too badly when he first felt the hand touching him. It wasn't a brutal or greedy touch and that's why he had believed it was Cato at first. It was just a hand softly stroking his bare leg. It took a couple of minutes for him to finally snap out of it. And it wasn't because he wanted to, it was because a couple of facts slowly slid into place.

1) He hadn't fell asleep with his legs bare.

2) The fact that Cato _was_, in fact, still in the Games resurfacing in his mind.

3) And the voice.

In his vague world of preconcieved fantasy, Peeta had murmered Cato's name. He'd missed saying his name in a way that wasn't for the Capitol citizens or in a mad rant in rage against Mya. It felt nice to say the name again. It felt and sounded perfect. But as soon as he said it, someone else responded. Someone who was _not_ Cato.

"I'm sorry to disappoint but it's still only me."

That voice jerked him awake like cold water had been chucked over him. His eyes snapped open and he found himself staring at the ceiling. When he tried to move, he realized he couldn't. "H-Harold?" he stuttered sleepily. "What are you doing in here?"

"I'd heard your photos had arrived and I wanted to have a look." Harold explained. "I came in to find you fast asleep." The hand on his leg inched up higher and Peeta instintively bent his knee so it fell down to his shin. Something tugged on his ankle and rubbed against his skin as he did so.

"What did you do to me? Why can't I move?"

"Sssh, you're fine, it's just a couple of ropes."

_"Why?!"_

"Because I want you to listen to what I have to say," Harold replied. "Without, you know, actually hitting me with your cane and all . . . "

"I thought you didn't believe I'd do that," Peeta retorted. He pulled at his wrists and realized with a strained grunt that they were binded together. "Whenever you get me out of this I'm not going to think twice about doing it!" He struggled to push himself up against the headboard so he could at least keep Harold in his eyeline. The man sat at the end of the bed, his hand still resting on his leg. "And what did you do with my pants?"

"You squirm a lot in your sleep and they were hanging off you," Harold explained. "I guessed you'd have perferred I just pulled them off instead of manhandling you to pull them back up."

"I suppose," Peeta replied wearily. "I'd also perfer you, I don't know, get your _hand_ off me." He looked at his wrists and scowled at how they were expertly tied together with duvet covers whose end was then knotted around the top bedpost. The ropes Harold had mentioned were tied around his ankles, binding them to the bottom bedposts. He tried to ignore how vulnerable he was right that moment, trying not to notice how his heart felt like it was going to explode because of how fast it was pumping.

"I don't know, I think it's in my best interests to touch you as much as I can before I have to free you again," Harold replied. "And you can, uh, hit me again." He sounded quite sincere it actually surprised Peeta. He twitched nervously as the man traced small patterns onto his skin. "Mm, your skin's smooth."

"What do you want Harold?" Peeta demanded.

"I told you," Harold replied. "I have a couple of things to do."

Peeta tensed up. "What sort of things?"

"Don't worry, not _that_ sort of things to do," Harold chuckled. "Snow sent me to do some research."

"On what?"

"On you."

"Can I ask why?" Peeta asked. Harold's hand was ever the explorative, stroking from ankle to knee and back again. Never had he had such an urge to slap someone before.

"Well, Snow thinks it wouldn't make sense if I ever got asked anything about you and I didn't know the answer," Harold explained. "So I've been sent to find out more about you. Just general stuff. What's your favourite colour, do you have siblings, do you have any habits, pet peeves, cute and irresitable traits. That sort of stuff, you know?"

"Colour: Orange. Siblings: Two brothers. Habits: I snap my fingers to forget stuff and occasionally bite my nails. Pet peeves: People who pretend to be something they're not. You can be the judge of what's cute and irresitable now free me and get out!" Peeta snapped.

Harold quirked an eyebrow in question. "Orange?" he asked.

"Not bright orange obviously. More like sunset orange," Peeta said. "Questions answered, now come on and untie me!" He bit at the duvet around his wrists but only suceeded in causing some damage to his teeth. Harold didn't make a move to help, just sat there immobile on the bed, watching him with a smile. Peeta stopped biting and looked at him with fire in his eyes. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Harold laughed. "Very amusing, I'm sure," he said. "But I'm not done yet. We're now moving into the territory where I felt it was nessecary to restrict your movements for."

"What's that then?"

"Turn ons, sexual fantasies, sensitive areas and fetishes."

Peeta's blood suddenly felt like it had turned to acid in his veins, burning through his being like wildfire. "Who would even ask you questions like that?" he demanded to know.

"You'd be surprised how nosey Capitol Citizens can be," Harold replied.

"Can't you just tell them to mind their own business?!" he asked hystrerically.

Harold grinned. "I would but I can't say I'm not curious myself. And it's also kind of unheard of to turn down a question of inquiry." His hand was dangerously high again, his fingertips just about grazing the beginning's of the Mya scar. Peeta breathed out through his nose and tried to concentrate on something else.

"Well, it's a fruitless quest," he finally said. "I don't have any of those . . ._ things_ you described. The purity image isn't just a facade you know."

"You're not a virgin, I know that much," Harold answered. "Mya informed me about Snow's orders for yourself and Mr. Hadley. She also told me you guys followed through on it." Gee, did Mya ever keep the lid on her marker? For someone who couldn't talk, she certainly gossiped a lot. "Plus, even the pure ones have something that makes them horny. And if you don't know what yours is then Snow has given me permission to find out."

Peeta was horrified. "Oh, so Snow gives _permission_ for you to do stuff to me now?" Perfect. Absoloutely perfect. Just what he bloody needed. "I don't give a damn what the President says, I'm not some harlet you can tie up and molest just for information. Believe me, I've been there, I've got the t-shirt, I'm not going through it again."

Harold chuckled. "Then just tell me what I need to know."

"I know, why don't you go away and make something up!" Peeta suggested in an upbeat voice that was also ladened with boredom. "I don't care what you come up with, just as long as you leave right this minute and don't come back until . . . never."

Harold raised his eyebrows. "Okay then, how about: 'My little bread boy may seem shy on the outside but is actually an animal in bed. He loves being fucked hard and enjoys being spanked. We have a sub-dom relationship in the bedroom.' How's that sound?" He grinned at Peeta's scowl. "No?"

"You're insufferable," Peeta snapped.

"You're unreasonable," Harold threw back. "Just make something up. You're good at that sort of thing."

"I can't make up something like that!" exclaimed Peeta. "Only a couple of days ago did I even learn what a blowjob was! How the heck can I come up with stuff like that if I am clueless as to how it works? You really did not think this through, did you?"

"I did," Harold said. "And I have a simple and easy solution."

"Is your defintion of simple and easy the same as mine? Because so far it doesn't seem to be," Peeta said, gesturing to the ropes around his ankles and the duvet around his wrists.

Harold shrugged. "I guess it's a matter of opinion," he said.

"So no, then?" Peeta lifted his wrists back up to his teeth and started biting again. He glanced at Harold. "Don't mind me," he said dryly, "do tell me your clever solution." Harold's hand gripped his thigh in a tight hold and it made him jump, a sharp jolt drawing a gasp from his mouth. There was something blazing behind the man's eyes. Something dangerous. Something that made Peeta want to curl up into a ball and hide.

"I'm very good at sex, my love," Harold said, brushing Peeta's cheek with his spare hand. Peeta jerked his face away, disgusted. "I know how to find people's sensitive spots and discover their turn ons like that." He snapped his fingers to puncutuate the point.

Peeta narrowed his eyes. "Your point being?" He knew that the sooner they were done with this, the sooner Harold would leave and he could begin sleeping with his cane in his hands at night to beat up intruders with. He didn't know why he'd never thought about it before. Even if he locked his apartment door, there was no doubting that Mya had given Harold a key.

"You either tell me, or I find out for myself."

Peeta's heart thumped against his ribcage. "But I don't know," he said desperately. "That's the point!"

"Think of what Hadley would say if he was here right now and given the same question. 'Where is your darling Peeta's sensitive spots?' What would he answer with?" Harold said. He had moved further up the bed without Peeta noticing so he could sit and caress the ugly scar on his thigh without having to strain to reach.

Not wanting to give in but also not wanting to give the man an excuse to go on a all expense paid exploration across his body, Peeta said in a panic, "Just say a bunch of cliches! No one will know the difference!" He was one more terrifying sentence away from a panic attack, his breathing short and frenzied. He couldn't calm himself down and the restrictions weren't helping.

"Mya said you'd start freaking out," Harold muttered. He inched further up until he was sitting right beside him and wrapped his arms around him in a protective embrace. This didn't help at all and Peeta's breathing quickened, starting to sound short and raspy as air refused to go into his lungs. Harold stroked his hair, giving the occasional 'ssh', not realizing how much he was actually contributing to the freak out.

"I . . . can't calm-calm down . . . like . . . this!"

"Okay, okay, okay, listen to me," Harold insisted. "I'll say this, are you listening?" Peeta shook his head, not wanting to hear any of it. "Alright, don't answer, just listen: 'Peeta and I haven't become sexually intimate yet, our relationship only going as far as the odd make out session. We have dabbled in a couple of things but have never gotten far enough for me to be able to answer your questions.' Is that okay?"

It did sound decent enough. Peeta took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Even though he couldn't guarantee that that was what Harold would say in the end if he ever was asked something along those lines, at least the idea of anyone ever believing that he did anything drastic with Harold was banished from his conscious for the time being. "But no one can even guarantee that someone is going to ask you that, right?" he said.

"I suppose," Harold replied.

Peeta, suddenly realizing that the man's arm was still around his shoulders, frowned and pulled away. "If you say that . . . I'd greatly appreciate it."

"I know," Harold said. "And if it makes you happy, I'll say it."

"Why do you care if I'm happy or not?" Peeta muttered.

Harold sighed. "Oh yes, why should I care whether you're happy or not," he said. "It's not like I really love you or anything. It's an act." He sniffed and examined his fingernails."Obviously." There was an edge to his voice that made Peeta frown. He casually leaned back against the headboard and rubbed his nails off on his jacket.

"Can you untie me now?" Peeta asked meekly. "I promise I won't hit you." He didn't have the energy to lash out anymore, he just wanted to go back to sleep. He wasn't even sure he knew where his cane was anyway. It sometimes fell to the floor and rolled under the bed as he slept.

"I suppose it's the way it goes," Harold said. "_He's_ the real deal and I'm just the act. There's always someone who gets hurt in these sort of things."

"Are you alright?" Peeta asked curiously. "You're kind of babbling."

"What? Me? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just talking to myself," he replied. He glanced at Peeta out of the corner of his eye. "What do you think of me, Peeta?" he asked out of the blue.

"Uh . . . what?"

"What do you think of me?" Harold repeated. "You think I'm a bad guy don't you?"

"Well, I certainly don't think the best of you. You didn't make a very good first impression," Peeta said. He squinted. "Why?"

"You're right. I'm sorry for how I behaved when I first met you, I got too excited. And a bit nervous too, I guess. I knew you were already in love with Cato and I thought I might as well just go right for it with the big bad man image. I tried, I really did, but I can't do it anymore. That guy? I'm _not_ that guy. Snow told me I could play this whatever way I wanted and I thought I would be able to play it as I had been doing but . . . I can't. I never expect you to be so . . . likeable."

"L-l-likeable?"

Harold had a intense gleam in his eyes. "It's all your fault," he concluded. "I'm normally brilliant at this sort of thing. Then you had to go and be so perfect and so easily likeable that I did the one thing, the _one_ thing I swore I would never do."

Peeta was apprehensive about what Harold was getting at. "What's that?" he asked.

Harold narrowed his eyes at him and studied his face with a sudden onslot of hate. "I don't care about people, I really don't. And yet there's a small part of me that screams at the thought of hurting you which is a ridiculous idea because I love hurting people."

"Maybe you're changing?" Peeta suggested. He hoped this was true. Maybe if Harold had changed the man wouldn't follow Snow's orders and the love triangle idea would fall down the drain.

Harold, not liking the sound of that answer at all, suddenly jumped forward. He pinned Peeta up against the headboard by his shoulders, anger blaring in his eyes. "I have not changed," he snapped at him. "You _can't_ have changed me so easily." Peeta swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and trembled. He must have triggered something unintentionally. He couldn't move or push Harold away, which was quite worrying with the man's sudden physchotic outburst.

"I'm sorry if I did do something to change you," he said, stumbling through the sentence like a blind fool. "I-I didn't mean it."

Harold's nostrils flared angrily and he gritted his teeth. "Well, you've obviously done something," he said. "I came into this believing I was just going to get some of this . . ." His fingers danced dangerously close to the waistband of Peeta's boxers. Peeta sucked in an uneasy breath, fearing where this was going. Harold leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss under his jaw, letting his mouth linger there.

"What did you get instead?" Peeta asked, using his bound hands to push against Harold's chest so his mouth couldn't reach him. He had to be careful. Harold was in a very vulnerable state and he definitely did not want to trigger something again. Especially with the man's hand so close to his waist line.

"I got smacked across the head with a bucket load of sparkling personality and a giant heart you can't not love," Harold replied.

"Meaning . . . ?"

"Meaning, I love you."

Peeta snorted and burst out laughing. "No, you don't," he said.

"Yes, I do."

"No, I'm sure you really don't. You're just overly emotional or something like that. You've only known me three days. I promise you you don't love me," Peeta explained. "Maybe you've deluded yourself with all the 'love triangle' image that's being exposed right now but I'm sure you'll come to your senses soon-" Harold pressed his hand over his mouth, silencing his words of reason.

"Three days?" he said. "Baby, I've known you for a year."

"But back then you only wanted to buy me as a sex toy," Peeta responded, his lips brushing against Harold's palm. "That doesn't count."

"I'd count it."

"Yeah, well, you would." His voice was muffled against the hand over his mouth. "Even now you can't keep your hands still. You just want sex a-and young people to have the sex with and . . ." He trailed off as Harold curled his finger underneath his jaw, hooking it under his chin and tilting his face up to the light.

"You have beautiful eyes, has anyone told you that?" Harold asked, studying his face with embarrassing scrutiny. "Has Hadley told you that?"

"N-no," Peeta stuttered. "He hasn't but that's not the point-"

"Not even genetic surgery could get eyes that blue," Harold continued. "Like the sky on a cloudless summer's day. It's nice to see them not clouded with any of Mya's drugs for once. I see a lot of love in them. Love for Hadley. The determination to keep going for him is rather sweet."

"I suppose this is the point when I'm supposed to melt in your hands and weep about how much I really do love him and how much I miss him and how much I just want him back. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint," Peeta replied. "I know how things like that end up. You wind up being the person who comforts me and in my vulnerable state you use it to take advantage. Mya's pulled it before. I can smell that technique a mile off."

Harold held his gaze unwaveringly. "Why can't you believe me?" he finally asked.

"Because you can't just _fall_ for someone as easily as that-"

"How long have you known Hadley?"

Peeta frowned. "What?"

"How long have you known Hadley?" Harold repeated. He reached up and moved a stray lock of hair away from Peeta's eyes. "If you can't just 'fall' for someone like that, how long have you and your boyfriend been happily together?" His hand trailed back to push through his hair. Peeta twisted away from him uncomfortably.

"I've known him two weeks," he answered. Immediately knowing where Harold was going to go with this, he quickly added, "But that's different because-"

"Because, how?" Harold asked. "Because if it wasn't, your entire three days theory will have been wasted?"

"No. It _is_ different. It's just . . ." Peeta struggled to find a way to explain it without sounding like a total hypocrite. "It just is!"

"I bet you wouldn't even give me a chance," Harold said.

"Well, yeah. Because 1) you tried to buy me off Mya only last year 2) you work for Snow and are still friends with Mya 3) you've been nothing but an asshole to me up until now 4) you tied me down to the bed which, I might point out, you still haven't freed me of and 5) did I forget to mention? I AM IN LOVE WITH CATO!"

"I seriously think you're second guessing the 'I promise I won't hit you' thing," Harold pointed out. "So I think I'll just keep you the way you are right now."

"Oh my god, let me go you crazy man!" He tugged on the ropes around his ankles and groaned in frustration. "You're derranged! I'm sorry if you have some deluded idea of what you believe love is and that you think you feel it for me but I don't love you back! I want to be sensitive about this but these ropes are burning my ankles and I'm losing the circulation in my wrists! Just _please_ let me go!"

Harold wasn't even looking at him while he ranted. Instead, he was watching his own hand as it crawled up Peeta's torso, pulling his sleep shirt up as it went. Flustered and embarrassed, Peeta squirmed uncomfortably, only succeeding on rucking his shirt up further. He felt abashed enough when someone would give him a compliment, let alone when someone who wasn't Cato was touching him up.

"Harold, please stop," he begged, pushing himself away from his touch. "You don't have to do this."

"I just want sex, don't I? I can't keep my hands still, right? I don't _know_ what love is because I'm _so_ deluded," Harold said. "Right? That _is_ what you said, isn't it?"

"I didn't mean it like that!" Peeta exclaimed. "I just wanted you to see reason! I'm sorry, Harold, don't do this, I didn't mean it in a bad way, I swear, just please stop!"

_"'Peeta and I haven't become sexually intimate yet, our relationship only going as far as the odd make out session',"_ Harold mused. "Don't you think we should remedy that?" He reached around and dipped his hand underneath the waistband of Peeta's underwear.

"No!" he cried out, furiously thrashing on the bed. "I'm _sorry!_"

"Did you know I can make a man cum within two minutes by doing nothing but fingering them?" Harold asked, lowering his mouth to Peeta's stomach. The younger whimpered and squirmed, finding the air in the room thin and stuffy. Harold didn't care for the boy's discomfort, brushing his lips against his abdamon and sliding his underwear down his legs.

"Oh no, Harold, stop, no, please, please, HAROLD STOP!" Peeta screamed. Memories suddenly burst into his head like a firework exploding in the night sky. Things Mya would have done to him, the long nights he'd spend in the basement, sitting in the dark, wondering when the next onslot of pain would begin. His fingers started snapping of their own accord, only this time the memories wouldn't leave. They wouldn't leave because he was reliving them again in reality.

"It'll only be bad if you keep struggling," Harold said, probably trying to be sensitive, like he actually gave a damn about whether it was bad for him or not.

Peeta screamed until his throat was raw, shifting and thrashing and kicking out as much as he could manage. Harold was able to keep in sync with his struggles, manouvering his mouth so it would always touch some part of his skin no matter where he squirmed to. His lips burned. Every kiss burned like fire against his body.

"Scream all you like," the man murmered, "the only person in this apartment building is Mya. And you and I both know she won't give a damn."

"Harold, please," Peeta whispered, his voice hoarse. "Don't do this."

"I'm sorry, I'm just the man who likes to have sex with children, aren't I?" Harold replied acidly. He tore his underwear down to his knees and took a moment to stare at him. Peeta started to cry helplessly, knowing that there was no stopping it. It was happening again. All of it. Harold was going to be his new Mya. His new burden.

"Blow a kiss to your boyfriend, beautiful," Harold teased, ghosting his hands over his exposed backside, laughing evilly when he got a choked sob in response. With a hysterical chuckle, he forced him over on his stomach. Peeta screamed as the ropes around his ankles grinded against his skin and his binded wrists were twisted awkwardly above his head. He buired his face into the pillow and sobbed.

"Aw, stop crying, you'll enjoy it," the older man taunted, smoothing his hands down his back and enjoying the defeated whimper he got in response.

"I'm so sorry!" Peeta sobbed. "I didn't mean it, just STOP!"

What about Cato? What would Cato think of him after this? Could he even stand to be around him with the knowledge that another man touched him like this? He screamed when Harold forced his fingers inside him, crying and begging for him to stop as tendrails of agony wracked up his spine. Cato. Cato. Cato. He was going to hate him so much. He wouldn't even look at him the same way.

Just like everyone else in District 12 had done.

He was going to lose more people he loved.

The knowledge of this made him cry harder.

Lips touched his spine and he whimpered. He writhed feebly against Harold, unable to prevent himself from crying out when the man brushed his pleasure spot and kept his fingers pressed there. He involuntarily rolled his hips back against him, immediately feeling digusted and trying to pull away. Harold chuckled and wrapped his arm around his waist, pressing him back against him harder. He ran his tongue up his back agonizingly slowly, leaving a wet trail in his wake.

"What would your boyfriend think of you now? Huh?" Harold hissed. "Do you think he'll still love you after knowing you've been finger fucked by a Capitol pervert, eh?"

"P-p-please s-top," Peeta begged. He didn't want to think about what Cato was going to think about him. Because he knew he was disgusting and a whore and he would be lucky if Cato ever spoke to him again when he came out of the Games let alone still love him.

Pressure built up in his neither regions and he sobbed harder. No, he wasn't doing this. He couldn't do it, he just couldn't. Cato was going to hate him. Cato wouldn't love him anymore. Harold leaned over so his mouth hovered over his ear. "Baby, I do love you so much and I wish you'd believe it. Even if Hadley doesn't look at you the same after all this, I promise I always will."

Peeta started rocking back against his fingers, his body working over his mind. He didn't like his body's reaction, or the small tendrails of pleasure that were curling around him and trying to pull him under, but no matter how much he screamed, or sobbed, or shrieked, his virginal body basked in it like the little whore he was. Harold wormed his hand underneath his writhing body and grasped his half-hard manhood. Peeta screamed harder, more out of desperation now than desire. He just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry in a corner.

"Cum, my little beauty," Harold whispered, nipping his earlobe. "It's okay, just cum."

He did.

Peeta curled in on himself, crying in shame. Harold lay on the bed beside him, not untying him just yet, and spooned him from behind. He was smiling, completely proud of himself, and peppered kisses along the younger boy's bare shoulders and back. "Now not only do you have Hadley's mark on you, you now have mine as well."

Peeta's crying morphed into ugly sobs, his body trembling. He imagined the look of disgust he'd get from Cato when he found out. The thought burned through him like acid and ate away at his resolve. Cato would hate him. Cato would never love him now. Harold had gotten what he'd paid for anyway. He was now an official product of Auntie Mya's Slave Drive.

And Cato was never going to look at him the same again.

He was dead inside.

_**A/N: I know. Heavy stuff. I hate myself but I wanted to put across how crazy and deluded Harold really is. Of how he belongs in a mental esylum, you know? Poor Peeta had to pay the price of it though. He just said the wrong thing at the wrong time :(**_

_**Please R&R. Don't hate though. I know haters gonna hate and all that but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.**_


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N: Slightly shorter chapter folks. If anything, this chapter is more of a filler, setting up future events and stuff, you know? Enjoy!**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**_

Chapter Nineteen

_The Arena_

Tracker Jacker Venom was ruthless.

Absoloutely fucking ruthless.

Cato only got two stings. Only two. And yet he'd barely made it back to camp before the ground had fell out from underneath him and he bit the ground with Clove still in his arms. Since he had been dragged down under the tracker jacker induced hallucination, he had seen Kayla brutally murdered at least five times, his mom and dad leaving them to go to the Capitol and never returning, Clove being killed by an other tribute in the Games . . .

But what dominated his nightmares the most was Peeta.

He'd see him standing in a hazy darkness, his clothes in tatters. Hands would paw at him, grabbing at his arms and legs, trying to pull him back in the dark again, where Cato couldn't see him. It was symbolic, evidently, about his lack of knowledge of what was being done to his partner in the Capitol, therefore being in the 'dark' about it. The state of his clothes and the hands trying to keep them apart being an emblematic indication towards the main things he knew was happening to Peeta in the city.

Then he'd see a younger Peeta being tormented by Mya in her basement. She'd lean over him intimidatingly, teasing him and laughing when he'd shrink back in fear of her. _"What's wrong?"_ she'd ask._ "Are you scared of your Auntie Mya?" _She'd fix up a syringe full of this yellow watery substance and inject it into his arm and it would blow up his pupils up into golfballs so that the beautiful blue was no longer visible.

The last one was the worst. Of Peeta having a doomed future like all the victors of previous Games. Spending the rest of his days as a Capitol puppet, playing escort to all the citizens who wanted him. Getting raped by a varity of faceless people as if he was some toy they could just use and throw away.

After that he'd finally jerked awake. He was sweating and his heart was pounding against his ribcage at a pace he could barely keep up with. The sun was burning bright but Cato knew for definite it wasn't the same morning in which Katniss had dropped the tracker jacker nest on them. How long had he been out? Clove was kneeling beside him with a canteen of water. "Drink," she said, helping him sit up and handing him the canteen.

"How long?" he asked her.

"Couple of days," Clove replied. "I came to yesterday to find yourself and Marvel out cold. I pulled out your stringers and applied some onitment from the Cornucopia medical supplies."

Cato drank greedily from the canteen, relieving his parched throat. He handed it back to Clove and wiped his mouth. "You said you saw Marvel and I out cold. What about . . . Thalassa and Glimmer?"

Clove sighed and shrugged. "They haven't returned. We can only assume they are dead," she said. She looked away and hugged her arms. "Thanks, by the way. For grabbing me and carrying me away with you. I wouldn't have stood a chance. I would have ended up like Thalassa and Glimmer . . . "

"No worries," Cato replied. "You'd do the same."

"Yeah," Clove said quietly, meeting his gaze again. She rubbed the nozzle of the canteen and took a swig herself. "Marvel's still out so we're going to have to wait before we can hunt." She gestured towards the body that was sprawled out face first in the grass, a spear lying a couple of metres away. "He got stung quite badly. My guess is that he was at least two more stings away from dying."

"Do you think he knows about . . . ?"

"Glimmer? No," Clove replied. "I don't think he does. I was hoping it could have been broken to him gently, like we would have woken up before the dead were projected up into the sky and he'd see her but . . . we've been out too long."

Cato rubbed his eyes. "Dear god, do we have to break it to him then?" he asked.

Clove nodded. "I think so." She picked at the strap of the canteen. "I've been looking after him, because I feel guilty, you know? Been giving him water and stuff. I think he's developing the beginnings of a fever. I would have given you some water as well but you kept murmering in your sleep. Like, you kept repeating _his_ name over and over again. You sounded scared. I was worried."

There was no questioning who's name she was referring to.

"I'm fine," Cato assured her. "It was just the venom. But I don't know . . . there's something deep in my gut that's telling me that something bad has happened. Something bad has happened to _him._ I don't know what it is but I don't like it. It's like there's a small part of me hurting wit him and it's pretty damn painful."

Clove put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "He's safe in the Captiol, Cato. You have nothing to worry about. I can almost 100% guarantee he's doing just fine. No one is going to hurt him, I promise."

Normally, Cato would have believed her, divulged in her lies, but for once he couldn't. A part of his soul was aching and he dreaded to know why. It worried him greatly and made him more anxious to get the Games over and done with so he could get back to Peeta. Because something was terribly wrong.

He could just feel it in his bones.

~xXx~

_The Capitol_

_Harold:_

He didn't know what he was talking about. Of course he loved him. He was just in denial, that was all. Nothing time and some sexual favours wouldn't fix.

His skin smelt like cinamon and Harold breathed in the scent greedily, brushing his lips against his abdamon and taking a tentative lick to see if he tasted like it too. With a tint of sweat and residual cum from earlier, there was definitely an unlaying of cinamon there. The boy underneath him was trying to play the impasse card, pretending to not be focusing on what he was doing to him. He probably thought he was winning in doing this but instead all he was doing was letting Harold do what he wanted.

Not that he was complaining.

He glanced up at said boy. His eyes were still slid shut, not having opened since he'd stopped crying after being finger fucked by him. His face was relaxed, smoothed of all wrinkles, the only sign that he was actually in distress being the way his fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were white.

"Oh Peeta," he sighed, lying on his side on the bed and walking his fingers up the bare torso before him. The boy truely was beautiful. Even though his face was soaked with tears and his ankles were soaked with blood, he still managed to look beautiful. Effortless pulchritude like this had always irked Harold but it suited Peeta because he was unaware of his charm. The cockiness of someone who knew they had an allure was always _very_ unattractive.

There was a knock on the door. "What do you want Mya?" Harold called. He caught Peeta clenching his jaw and smirked at his chagrin. "Sorry baby," he said, kissing his ribcage. "Do you want to let her in?"

No response.

"Thought so."

Mya came in seconds later. The avox had grown to become his best friend over the past year. They were very close, bonding over the mutual desire to make people's lives miserable. You don't meet many people with an idiosyncrasy like that and if you do you learn to connect and develop a friendship between each other. Harold had become to consider Mya his sister.

Immediately noticing the siutation, Mya's green eyes widened in surprise. _"Whoa, what happened in here?"_ She stopped at the foot of the bed, red ponytail swishing by her milky shoulders. _"Jeez, Harry, you get sent in here for a job and the place ends up lookng like a war zone. Fuck, man, look at the blood. We're going to have to take him to get a bit of polish put onto those wounds before you go to the fundraiser tonight."_

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Harold waved her off, resting his head in the crook of Peeta's neck and blowing a raspberry. The younger boy promptly turned his head away, still saying nothing and not opening his eyes.

_"Well, sorry to be the party pooper but you need to get up and dressed." _She threw a dress bag onto the bed. _"That's his clothes for the fundraiser. I know you'll be able to dress yourself accordingly." _She took in the tied up boy with a frown. _"What's his problem?"_

"Aw, he's in a huff with me," Harold answered. "Aren't you baby?"

No answer.

"You see?"

_"Yeah, he'll do that," _Mya wrote. _"What did you do? Pinch his nipples? He doesn't like that. Nearly took out Mort with his head alone because of that. It was our fault for doping him up so much but still, it was pretty funny."_

Harold laughed. The sound made Peeta flinch in his arms. "No, I made him cum and now he's ashamed of himself," he explained. "Although I will keep that in mind."

Mya grinned. _"I need to speak to him. Get him to open his eyes."_

"Open your eyes," Harold ordered, nudging him with his elbows. Stubborn as ever, Peeta refused, turning his head completely away and huffing. His refusal to do what he's told flipping a switch in Harold's head, he gritted his teeth and gave him another chance. "Open your eyes," he repeated. Mya watched with a gleam in her own eyes. Having known him for so long, she knew how easy it was to flip the switch in Harold's mind and she loved that side of him.

"Open your eyes or I'll open them for you."

Peeta awkwardly flipped himself over onto his side so that his back was facing Harold. Giving up on the nicey, nicey act, Harold sat up and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him up to sit up as well. Peeta cried out in pain, grabbling at the hand on his hair with both his bond ones. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter in insurgence, still sticking to his morals on not listening to what Harold tells him.

"Come on," Harold said, his voice dangerously on edge. "Mya wants to talk to you."

_"Oh jesus, just tell him that Snow wants him to remember to be 'hopelessly confused about this whole love triangle thing.' I suppose it's just as well I came to remind him when I did after what you've obviously done. Still, all jokes aside, get ready, yeah?"_ She retucked her white board under her arm, saluted and left the room.

Harold sighed and tightened his grip on Peeta's hair as he thought a couple of things over. The boy squeaked in agony. "You're really going to have to start doing as I say or this is going to be a very difficult relationship," he said in a dark tone. His eyes studied his face, from his shut eyes to the beads of sweat running down his temples and neck. How did he manage to _still_ look exquisite while in pain like this? It really angered Harold. He loved things that were flawless and had to claim them as his own. Anything impeccable had to belong to him.

Placing his spare hand at the back of the boy's neck, Harold pulled him forward and pressed his lips against his neck. Peeta sucked in a breath and winced when he pulled harder on his hair, trying desperately not to make a sound when the older man bit down on his skin and sucked, making his mark on him. Harold enjoyed creating the hickey, taking his damn time to nip and nibble on the sensitive skin on the younger boy's neck.

"Mya says you have to remember to act accordingly at Snow's fundraiser tonight," he said, pulling away. He tugged Peeta's hair to emphasize the point until the resistance against the roots was so strong it felt like he was going to rip the hair out. This time, Peeta couldn't control his yelp of discomfort. "Now I have to untie you now but there will be serious consquences if you lash out. Understand?" Peeta pressed his lips together in a rebellious line. Harold growled, moving the hand from the back of his neck and grabbing another handful of hair so that his head snapped back. "Understand?" Harold repeated.

Peeta nodded in submission, his breathing heavy and laboured.

Harold pecked his lips. "Good boy." He planted his hand on his chest and pushed him back so he was lying on his back again on the bed. He slid down the bed and sat at the foot of it, carefully picking at the ropes and wiping the blood off his fingertips every now and then. The ropes rubbed against Peeta's ankles and he whimpered. Harold winced. "Shush, it's okay," he tried to sound soothing, rubbing the boy's leg in what he hoped was a comforting way.

Comforting really wasn't his thing, he wasn't very good at it.

"Jeez, I need to learn not to tie so tight," Harold muttered to himself, working open his knots, his fingers slipping on the blood soaked material. "The body polish will fix it right up though, I promise."

It took a while but he eventually got the ropes undone. Almost immediately, Peeta pushed himself away from him with his feet and pressed himself against the headboard. He curled in on himself and whimpered patheically, his whole body trembling. "Aw, don't be like that, baby. Come here." Harold reached out to him and sighed heavily when he cowered back.

"S-stay away from me," Peeta hissed.

"Oh, so you can speak?" Harold joked. "Come on, it's time for you to get into your fundraiser clothes." He stood up and unzipped the bag Mya dropped off. "The theme is casual so lucky for you, no more of those goddamn suits. Although they were pretty sexy. Let's get moving!" He clapped his hands but Peeta didn't move. Sighing, Harold moved around the bed and pulled him up by his wrists. "Stop being difficult now. You're going to need to be smiling in an hour or so so you better get your act together."

No answer.

"I see, we're back to the silence then? Alright then, suit yourself." God, he was so stubborn. He grabbed the clothes bag and took the clothes out. "Now remember to behave. We've got a lot to do before the fundraiser and we don't have time for you to be your stubborn self."

Peeta cast his eyes to the floor but didn't speak.

Enthralled by how cute he looked, Harold tipped his chin up and kissed him full on the mouth. "Good boy," he murmered against his lips. He pulled back and scruffed his hair. "We're going to have a brilliant night!"

~xXx~

_The Arena_

_**BOOM!**_

The explosion threw Cato to the ground. The ground shook underneath him as the sound of the eruption tore through the air. Clove stumbled and fell onto the grass beside him, throwing her hands over her head and burying her face into the soil. Debris dropped from the sky and scattered the clearing around them. A giant piece of rock landed between them and crumbled into pieces on impact.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" Clove yelled over the sound. Cato barely heard her through his ringing ears and could only judge by the movement of her lips. He flipped over onto his back and saw a giant mushroom cloud rising up from the treetops, back where the cornucopia was located. He clamboured to his feet, bones vibrating, and helped Clove to her feet.

They both ran back in the direction in which they came, weaving through the trees and foliage, dodging the occasional rock or twig. His heart was pounding. What had happened? What had exploded?

Clove got out into the cornucopia clearing first, stumbling to a stop. Cato stopped a couple of metres behind her, his jaw unhinging in horror. Where their stack of supplies had been sitting was now a sorched piece of blackened ground, bits and pieces of the remains lying scattered around here and there.

The landmines.

The landmines had gone off.

Glimmer had caught the District 3 tribute not long after he had seen Katniss in the tree on the first night. She was going to kill him when Thalassa had suddenly came up with the bright idea to use him to their advantage and get him to reset the landmines to protect their supplies. After that she obviously just let Glimmer kill him but it came to their advangtage because no one could go near the supplies without getting blown sky high.

Had someone tried to steal something and stepped on one?

"What are we going to do?!" Clove exclaimed. "We have no food!" She kicked a ripped backpack and yelled with frustration.

"Okay, Clove, hold on, let's just calm down-"

"The fucker better have been blown to smithereens," Clove huffed, folding her arms.

Cato sighed and spun a 360 circle to examine the perimeter. Movement in the forest caught his eye and he stopped. Katniss was hunched in the underbush, her hair a matted mess and blood trickling down the side of her face. She didn't see him looking at her because her eyes were frantically darting all over the clearing. Cato wondered where the blood was coming from. How had she been hurt? Who hurt her? Why wasn't she attempting to fix it?

Glimmer's bow was clenched in her blood stained hands. Cato wondered why she had the weapon. Did she even know how to use it?

"Well, we're screwed," Clove concluded. Turning away from Katniss, Cato raised his eyebrows in plain agreement. They were in deep trouble. Clove looked around herself with a sudden frown. "Wait, where's Marvel?"

Cato suddenly realized that Marvel was, indeed, missing. Where had he gotten to? He scanned the clearing for their partner but he was no where to be seen. When he turned back to where Katniss had been sitting in the underbush, he saw she was no longer there. "KATNISS!" A female voice suddenly screamed in the distance. "KATNISS! HELP!"

"Holy crap, what's that?" Clove asked.

"I don't know," Cato replied, stepping towards the edge of the clearing.

A canon fired and both of them jumped out of their skin. There was a thick silence where Clove and Cato just stood there, sensing something else coming and waiting for it to happen. And it did. Not long after, a second canon went. The silence continued after this and both of them stood there, unsure of whether they should point out the obvious or not.

"Do you think . . . one of them was . . . ?" Clove trailed off, biting her lip. She didn't want to finish her sentence.

"Almost positive," Cato replied quietly.

Even though there was no solid evidence that Marvel had just been killed, there was something in their guts that told them that he was gone. Career bonds never broke and when one of them died, it was like they felt it as well just for a microsecond. Cato hadn't felt Glimmer and Thalassa when they died because he was unconscious from the tracker jacker venom.

Clove was hard as nails and didn't show her grief on her face. She just turned on her heel and walked off to be on her own for a while. Cato just kept telling himself that Marvel and who ever this other person who had died were was just one more step to getting back to Peeta. It still hurt though. Marvel was a good guy. He didn't deserve to die. But, Cato thought grimly as himself and Clove started salvaging whatever was left from the supplies' explosion, did anyone here really deserve to die?

That night, when Marvel's face was projected up into the sky along with the little girl from 11's, Cato knew that this was all that was going to come out of the Games. Not victory or riches or a life of ease and luxury. Just death. Lots and lots and lots of death. And he had to continue the death.

He had to continue letting people die until he got back to Peeta.

_**A/N: Soooo yeah? I'd like to point out that in this fic time in the arena passes quicker than it does in the Capitol. So it could be night in the Capitol but day in the Arena and vice versa, you know? If you're confused just let me know and I'll try and explain it over PM!**_

_**So Cato and Clove are the only careers left now? Oooh, we're getting closer to the end of the Games! **_

_**Please R&R! :D**_


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my Mam-gu. When you hear the birds, just let them carry you away.**_

Chapter Twenty

Two victors.

Two victors from the same District.

They could go home.

They could both go home!

Cato and Clove sat ontop of the Cornucopia, hugging each other, laughing like nothing else mattered. Because it really didn't anymore. They could both go home together! They didn't have to kill each other! They could both survive and go back to the Capitol together where they could reunite with Peeta and never be put under threat again. They could live out the rest of their lives in safety, training future tributes and never having to think that they had to murder each other. Ever. They just had to get out of here alive.

As soon as Claudius Templesmith announced the rule change, someone had screamed. It wasn't hard to figure out who or why because there was only one other team. The District 12 team. Katniss had screamed her partner Gale's name. It was pretty stupid on her part but Cato and Clove had decided just to let it slide. They were too wrapped up in their own joy anyway.

"Oh my god!" Clove exclaimed. "We're so going to win this now!"

"I know, right?" Cato replied, grinning from ear to ear.

"We don't even have to worry about Katniss and her partner. That guy is going to die of natural causes," Clove said. "All we need to do is take her out and he's going to die on his own."

"Why? What happened?" Cato frowned. The sky overhead was ink black, the cloudless canvas of black exposing a thousand fabricated stars that glittered like tiny dragonflies, each one creating it's own light source like small nightlights.

"When you went dead after being stung, I knew I had to hold up the ranks. So I went out hunting for a bit. Don't worry, I didn't leave you alone unprotected. I rigged up a trap with my knives so that if anyone came within two metres of you they'd be stabbed in the juglar. Anyway, while I was hunting I ran into the guy from 12. The moron thought he could take me on. We grappled for a bit but I managed to jab my boot knife into his leg. I was ready to finish him off when he punched me in the stomach and hobbled away while I was doubled over," Clove explained. "But the blade went in pretty far. It was very close to coming out the other end. He doesn't stand a chance."

"Clove, you could have been killed," Cato said seriously. The thought of Clove dying while he had been out cold was terrifying. What would have been the last thing he'd said to her? Would it have been good or bad? Would he regret it for the rest of his life, not having been able to say goodbye?

Of course he would.

"But I wasn't," Clove replied with an easy smile.

"But you _could_ have been," Cato insisted.

Clove sighed and put her small hand on his shoulder. "I'm fine Cato," she said. "You have nothing to worry about, I promise." She lay back on the roof of the Cornucopia and stared up at the stars. "Can you imagine? We're going to win the Hunger Games. Who's left anyway?"

"Uh, the two from 12, the guy from 11, and the one from 5," Cato answered.

"I haven't seen her from 5 at all," Clove replied. "She can't have just vanished."

"Invisibility is something to worry about," Cato agreed. "Still, she can't have gone far."

Clove smiled and closed her eyes. "You're excited to see him again, aren't you?" she asked. Without waiting for him to reply, she continued, "I kind of am too. And if I'm excited I have no idea what it must be like for you."

What was it like for him? It felt like he was almost there, within touching distance of winning and going back to the Capitol. It was exciting and terrifying and phenomenal and all the words in between. All that was between himself and Peeta was four tributes. Only four. Four wasn't a lot at all.

"I miss him so much Clove," he found himself saying. It was true. A piece of him was missing, a giant hunk of his being had been ripped out the morning he had been taken to the arena. Whatever was left ached to see him again. His smile, his eyes, his beautiful laugh. He wanted nothing else than to hug him again, to kiss him like nothing else mattered. And once he had him in his arms once more, he was never going to let go again.

"I know you miss him," Clove replied, sitting up and wrapping her arm around his shoulders. "I miss him so fucking much as well." She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "Tell me about him, paint me a picture as if I was a stranger who had never met him before."

Normally, Cato would have questioned why she wanted him to do this but there was something inside him that wanted desperately to talk about Peeta. "I heard a quote once in school . . . in english lit class. I never really understood it. In fact, I thought it was pretty pathetic because I still believed love didn't exist. Well, maybe it did exist but it was only for the weak, you know?"

Clove hummed in understanding. "What was the quote?" she asked.

_"The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen."_ Cato recited from memory.

Clove answered almost instantly. "That's him," she said. "W-who said that?"

"Elisabeth Kübler-Ross," Cato answered. "I don't know . . . it just reminds me of him so much. Because of the things he's been through and how, somehow, he's still so beautifully amazing. He wouldn't have even told me about his troubles if it hadn't of been for the fact that he screamed in his sleep and I insisted he tell me . . ."

"He's very strong," Clove murmered. "Stronger than us. Even if we're the ones who've trained our whole lives and have built up muscles of iron and nerve of steel . . . we're not the strong ones. Strength isn't about physical attributes. Strength is the ability to travel from hell and back and still manage to smile every single day."

Cato nodded in agreement. For someone who told lies nearly all her life, Clove still always managed to peg everything perfectly. Right on the mark. Cato always wished he could see the truth just as clearly as his best friend did. He wanted to be as wise as her as well. To him, a flower was a flower. A plant that grew and died within the space of a couple of months. To Clove, it was a magnificent piece of pink flora that lived its life to just as much of the full as any human would. It was a beautiful trait.

"I've always loved trees," Clove said quietly. She scanned the trees circling the clearing. "Reminds me of an old story my Mam-gu used to tell me."

Clove's Mam-gu was the most lovely woman you'd ever meet. She was the classic 'baking cookies and smell of baby powder' granny. She had always been kind to him when Clove would come to visit with him and had even tried to set them up together until Clove told her that he was gay. This then made the woman try to set him up with her window washer who was also gay.

That man was his first ever serious relationship.

Mam-gu lost her son to the Hunger Games. Ever since then, she had always told Clove to never volunteer. To never enter the draw. Because she didn't want her to die like her son had. When Mam-gu passed away, Clove had sworn to never enter the Games' draw. Which she hadn't. It was her mother who had put her name in. Her mom didn't care, it wasn't like it was _her_ mother who had told her daughter not to enter the Hunger Games. Mam-gu was Clove's father's mother and he had promised Clove that he would never force her into the Games. Not that he would have pre-Mam-gu anyway.

"It wasn't her story. I mean, she hadn't made it up herself," Clove explained. "It was a passage written by Hermann Hesse."

"Tell me the story," Cato said, lying back. Clove scooted closer to him and rested her head on his chest. They watched the artificial stars as they glimmered in the night's sky. Sighing softly, Clove began the story.

"For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

"Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

"A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

"A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

"When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

"A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

"So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is.

"That is home. That is happiness."

~xXx~

_The next day_

"Do you know the plan?" Cato asked.

Clove rolled her eyes and nodded. "Yes, yes," she said. "I stand guard behind the Cornucopia and kill anyone who tries to take whatever's there while you watch from over there-" She pointed off into the distance-"And keep watch."

It was early morning, about an hour away from dawn. Claudius Templesmith had announced a feast later last night. A feast at the Cornucopia. Feasts were either valuable or a massive waste of time because many people died and all there could be on the table was a loaf of stale bread. Still, with no more food supplies, a stale loaf of bread could mean a lot . . .

"Right, come on, I'm ready," Clove said in an upbeat voice. She jumped up and down and clapped Cato on the shoulder. "One, two, three-BREAK!" She spun on her heel and sprinted across the clearing.

"Clove!" Cato called after her.

She skidded to a stop and spun around. The slowly rising sun filtered through the hair that escaped her ponytail and set her pale skin alight like porcelin. A gleeful smile was spread across her face. A soft breeze made the red waterproof jacket she had tied around her waist flutter. Her white teeth glowed like a flashlight, nothing able to wipe the smile off her face.

"You be careful, alright?"

Clove laughed. "Okay, dad," she said. She then turned around and ran off to their agreed location, black hair following behind her like a black cape.

Cato sighed and headed off to his agreed location. It was very likely going to be the longest hour he'd ever experience.

~xXx~

_The Capitol_

"Get off me!" Peeta snapped, whacking Harold round the head with his cane. The man laughed and rubbed his head, unaffected by the blow. He had been changing out of his clothes from the fundraiser to get into something more comfortable when the Capitol pervert had tried to wrap his arms around his waist from behind. Having enough, Peeta had grabbed his stick and beat him around the head with it.

"I guess that was going to come eventually," Harold chuckled. "Good thing I've got a metal plate in my head isn't it?" He rewound his arms around his waist but Peeta wasn't having it, pulling away and making a distance between them. He was pissed off after the events of the fundraiser, having to put a smile on his face and not flinch whenever Harold would touch him. The Capitol man put it to his advantage, wrapping his arm around his shoulders, kissing his head or cheek, or discreetly grabbing his ass with the knowledge that he couldn't lash out on him in public.

"You should just leave," Peeta muttered. "You've got your own apartment." He turned his back on him and pulled his shirt off. He tossed it off to the side and reached out to grab his sleep shirt. Harold snatched his wrist and used it to twirl him around and back him up against the wall. "Harold, I'm serious, either go away now or I'm not going to responsible for the damage caused by the walking stick currently in my hand."

"Oooh, are you angry with me?" Harold teased.

A rude word beginning with the letter 'F' was on the tip of his tongue. Peeta swallowed it, sticking to his guns with his not swearing promise. "Buck you," he blurted out instead. Harold burst out laughing and Peeta's cheeks flamed in embarrassment.

"Aw, your innocence is so refreshing," he chuckled.

"Go get a life," Peeta hissed, pushing Harold away from him and putting the bed between them. He pulled his sleep shirt on and grabbed the remote, switching it on to the Hunger Games. A feast had apparently been announced while they were at the feast and he had to watch to make sure Cato survived. The stress of this along with Harold's god damn pestering was bringing him cloe to the point of snapping like a twig.

A table was just rising out of the ground in front of the Cornucopia when he switched the telly on. On it was four packs with the numbers _2, 5, 11 _and _12_ embrodiered onto the material. So it wasn't just one of the time wasting 'stale bread' feasts. This one was the real deal. Each District was getting something they really needed.

Almost as soon as the table clicked into place, the red head from 5 ran out of the Cornucopia, skidding to a stop by the table and grabbing her pack. She took off immediately, sprinting across the clearing into the forest. Wow, that was clever. No one could follow her since their packs were still on the table and could easily be taken. No, the girl from 5 was safe for now.

"Sneaky bitch," Harold commented. Peeta ignored the comment and continued to watch.

His heart leapt into his throat when Katniss suddenly emerged. She was running as fast as she could across the clearing, bow in hand, knowing that if she didn't get to her and Gale's pack next, it would easily be stolen. Peeta hoped she got it before anyone else appeared. He didn't know what was in the small pack but it must be important to her, judging by the speed she was running at.

_Come on Kat. Come on, you can do it._

She nearly made it. She was so close.

"Clove, no!" Peeta exclaimed at the t.v screen.

Clove had appeared from behind the Cornucopia. She threw a knife at Katniss with scary accuracy and Katniss had a millisecond to dodge it. She spun out of the way and sent an arrow flying in Clove's direction. The point lodged into Clove's arm. It wasn't her throwing arm though and she still had the energy to grab another knife and throw it as well.

This one sliced Katniss' forehead. Blood immediately poured out of the wound and streamed into her eyes. Clove took the chance and rugby tackled her to the ground. The girl's grappled on the ground, screaming and tumbling. Peeta's heart pounded against his ribcage. Who did he want to survive? Katniss or Clove? He didn't know. Whenever Clove would land a punch on Katniss, he'd wince and whenever Katniss would hit Clove, his heart would skip a beat.

Clove won the fight, pinning Katniss to the ground with skills only a career could possess.

"I really don't want to kill you," Clove admitted. Katniss looked surprised, the scrape on her forehead still trickling blood. "You're a friend of Peeta's. He's been defending your ungrateful ass all this time. Really, I don't believe you deserve it. But that doesn't matter, it's not about what I think."

"Just get on with it if you're going to do it!" Katniss hissed back.

"He killed her, didn't he?" Clove asked, her voice cracking. "He killed the little girl from 11?"

Marvel. She was referring to Marvel.

Katniss kept her mouth sealed shut. It looked like she had decided to just stay quiet, not responding to Clove at all. "I promise I'll make this painless," Clove promised. "For Peeta. Because I have no doubt he's watching right now. I wouldn't kill you if I had the choice but this isn't about you or me. It's about getting them back together. Nothing else matters."

She raised the knife to stab Katniss. Peeta held his breath and shut his eyes, waiting for the blow.

It didn't come.

"Did you kill her?!" A deep, gruff voice demanded. Peeta cracked an eye open and realized with horror that Thresh had a hold of Clove. She was dangling in the air like a rag doll. Katniss scrambled backwards like a startled beetle. "Did you kill that little girl?!"

"No!" Clove exclaimed. Thresh threw her to the ground and she landed on her back with a painful thump.

"I heard you say her name!" Thresh yelled.

"I didn't-"

Peeta saw it at the exact same time Clove did. Thresh was holding a giant rock. His stomach churned in fear as he watched Clove's bravery crumble. "Cato!" she screamed. "Cato! Help!"

"Clove!" Cato responded. No, no, no, no, no, he was too far away, he wasn't going to make it. Peeta was on his knees in front of the t.v screen, his nose nearly pressed up against the glass. No, don't do it Thresh. Please don't kill her. _Please._

Thresh's arm came down hard with the rock still clenched in his hand. It smashed against Clove's skull with a sickening crunch. When he moved his arm away, the dent was visible on her forehead. Clove was a goner.

"No!" Peeta cried. Tears brimmed in his eyes and dripped out when he blinked. "Clove," he whimpered pathiecally. Thresh was saying something to Katniss but Peeta didn't hear what it was. All he saw was Clove lying on her back in the grass, heaving for breath. She looked so small, lying there trying to get air into her lungs. She wasn't the sarky, sarcastic, humourous girl anymore . . . she was dying.

Katniss suddenly jumped up and ran away with her pack. Thresh didn't follow her. Instead he turned in the oppisote direction with his pack and District 2's, fleeing back into his realm of the wheat field. They just left Clove there. On her own. As if she were already dead. Peeta sat back against the base of the bed, burying his face in his hands and sobbing. Even though her canon hadn't went yet, it was only a matter of time.

Only a matter of time.

_The Arena_

"Clove!" Cato yelled, hearing the panicked call of his District partner. He immediately bolted back in the direction of the Cornuopica clearing, knowing that she was in trouble. He tripped and stumbled over the smallest of forest debris, things he would normally have been able to avoid. As he reached the trees that lined the clearing, he tripped on a log and fell on his face. A twig scraped his cheek and rocks dug into his hands as he pushed himself back up but he barely noticed as he burst out into the clearing.

At first, he saw nothing. Just an empty table by the Cornucopia and the grass that surrounded the area. The sun was beating down as usual and the trees swayed in the summer breeze without a care in the world.

Then he saw her.

Clove was lying in the grass by the table, her chest heaving and her beathing ragged. His heart sinking in horror, Cato ran to her. He skidded to a stop by her side and dropped beside her. There was a massive dent in her forehead and a rock lay a couple of metres away from her. No, this couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. She wasn't dying! Clove Jettison wouldn't go down this easily!

"Clove, come on, stay with me," he said, grabbing her hand and clinging to it desperately.

Her brown eyes locked on his face hopelessly. Her chest heaved upwards as she struggled for breath. "Cato," she croaked, her voice wheezy.

"Don't talk, save your breath," Cato told her, brushing her hair from her blood stained cheeks. A lump formed in his throat and made it difficult to swallow. Tears had begun to well up in his eyes because he knew that there was nothing he could do. He was helpless to do nothing but sit and watch her die.

"T-tell P-Peeta I send my l-love," she said, her voice a harsh whisper. She coughed and a glob of blood spat out.

"Don't do this Clove, please," Cato begged, clinging to her hand like it would keep her alive.

"You w-were the bestest friend I ever had," Clove gasped, inhaling sharply and coughing some more. "I never w-wanted to go i-into t-the Games with y-ou." She grunted in pain, her grip on Cato's hand loosening as she began to lose the struggle against survival. Cato held it tighter, as if he could hold on for the both of them.

"Stay with me Clove, please," he pleaded, his tears dripping onto her face and mingling with her own.

Clove's eyes drifted upwards to stare at the sky. "I r-remember when we were fifteen," she said. "My mam-gu told me that she thought you and I should date." Her voice was turning husky and her lids were fluttering. "And I said, 'We can't Mam-gu because he's gay' and she just laughed. She laughed a lot, my Mam-gu did."

"Clove-"

"I told her I was scared of dying," Clove whispered, her tears burning streaks down her cheeks. "Because I didn't know what lay beyond it. 'Am I going to hell for being a career?' I'd asked her. She told me no. She said no one goes to hell unless they really deserve it." Her eyes were clouding over now. Cato clung to her desperately. "She told me, 'when it's your time to die, you'll hear the birds singing.'"

Cato gasped for breath as he tried to control his crying. "Can you hear the birds singing?" he asked.

Clove smiled and a single tear dripped out as she whispered, "And when you hear the birds singing, let them carry you away."

The tear dripped into the grass.

Her chest stopped heaving for breath.

She stopped blinking.

"No," Cato cried desperately. "Clove!" Clove's eyes stayed staring upwards, the smile still on her face. He leaned forward and rested his ear against her chest, listening for her heart beat. It wasn't there. Her chest was empty and hollow. Her heart was no longer beating. Cato yelled angrily, his tears soaking into her t-shirt.

Clove was dead.

_That is home. That is happiness._

_**A/N: Oh my goodness, I'm crying! **_

_**I'm sorry to you guys who wanted Clove to stay alive. I had this planned from the beginning. For the Games to go the exact same way they did in the books. There was actually a point were I was going to let her live but I always do that and I wanted to stick to my guns for once.**_

_**I'm sorry.**_

_**Please R&R! **_


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N: I'm glad you guys are enjoying my fanfic 'Sharing'. I was going to finish another chapter for it but then realized I still had this fic as well ;)**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**_

Chapter Twenty One

_The Capitol_

Peeta supposed being numb was a good thing. If he was numb and couldn't feel anything, then it didn't matter what happened to him. Well, it wasn't that he didn't _feel_ anything, he felt it all. It was almost like none of it had an effect on him anymore. He'd become so accustomed to being touched against his will, treated like nothing more than an object to be passed around for entertainment purposes, to having to pretend that he was in love with a complete physchopath, that it all just started to bounce off him. He hadn't_ wanted_ to become used to it but he had.

He had begun to notice this when he'd been called in for another photo spread for Capitol Couture. Near the end of the Games, they always interview friends and families of who's left to ask them questions about their children/friend/relative. The Capitol were curious as to how Cato's other half was doing with the end of the Games so close.

Harold was there too. They wanted a couple of photos of them both apparently. Peeta had somehow expected it. It didn't really make sense for them to invite him to talk about Cato without actknowledging the fact that he was currently stuck in the middle of a ridiculous 'love triangle.' Most of the time when he was asked about Harold, he wanted to say that he couldn't trust the man as far as he could throw him but he bit down on the urge. One snide comment wasn't worth the reprecussions.

He'd realized he had become used to it when the shoot was happening. He supposed he deserved an award for how well he could act. The way he was becoming able to let Harold touch him without flinching or pulling away.

They were pictured hugging a lot. It was kind of strange, having a co-ordinated hug. Peeta would be guided on where to look and where to put his hands on his 'boyfriend'. He tried to hide his disgust as he'd do as he was told as best he could, smiling and laughing on cue. Harold basked in it, enjoying when Peeta had to pretend. He knew he was doing it for Cato's own good but it was still fun to entertain the idea that he wasn't.

There had been a moment, in between takes when they were still standing around on the set while the photographer was fixing up his camera, when Harold was messing around and dipped him back like a dancer might do with his partner. Peeta didn't like it but had to keep his mouth shut and plaster a smile on his face.

"Oh, I like that," the photographer said. "Do it again."

Ever happy to comply, Harold did it again. Peeta clung to his hands, trying not to fall, and had to press his leg against the man's side to stop himself from losing balance. He had to hold himself there, Harold beaming down at him like the smug monster he was. He had grown acustomed to the flash of the camera and had developed himself an on-lens smile.

Even through all the development in his ability to hide behind his fake persona, Peeta would go back to his apartment every night feeling dirty and violated. He'd switch on the Hunger Games and feel guilty every time he saw Cato on screen. He knew he'd betrayed him and there was probably nothing he could do to make up for it.

"Do you know what's in your boyfriend's pack?"

"What?" Peeta didn't turn away from the t.v screen as Harold spoke. Katniss was on screen with Gale who-despite the medicine in their pack-was still dying.

"I said, do you know what's in your boyfriend's pack?" he repeated.

"No. He hasn't got it yet," Peeta replied. "He's out hunting Thresh because he killed Clove and has his pack."

"I know what's in it," Harold said.

"How do you know?"

"Because I sorted it."

Peeta turned around and narrowed his eyes. "What did you sort?" he asked cautiously.

Harold shrugged. "What went into Hadley and Jettison's pack. I have to say I didn't think Jettison would die so quickly after the rule change announcement but you can't have everything."

"Don't talk about Clove's death like it was a causal happening," Peeta said acidly. He was still trying to get over the fact that Clove was dead. It didn't _feel_ like she was dead. Even though the hovercraft took her body, Caeser and Claudius did an evaluation of her death, and even though Cato was out there now, hunting down Thresh to kill him for killing her, it didn't feel like Clove was dead at all. "What did you put in Cato's pack?"

"I was being actually very generous," Harold said. "I gave him a couple of photos of you."

Well, that didn't sound too bad. Peeta turned back to the t.v screen before a thought suddenly came to mind. He turned back to Harold with a skeptical frown. "What photos of me did you give him?" he asked. "Please don't tell me you gave him the love triangle pictures!"

"What sort of guy do you think I am?" Harold asked. He sat down on the bed and leaned back on his elbows. "No, I gave him the artist photos."

"The _artist_ photos!?" Peeta exclaimed. "Out of all the photos to give him, you gave him the _artist_ photos! What the heck is wrong with you?!" After having photos of him in the make-shift bakery taken, the photographer did another concept to do with his art. It included him topless and a lot of paint. It wasn't his proudest moment.

"It was either the artist photos or the love triangle ones. Which would you have preferred?" Harold asked.

"You should have given him something useful!" Peeta replied. "Something he could actually use! Not some perverted Capitol Couture photo of me covered in paint!"

Harold grinned. "I'm sure Cato will greatly appreciate it. Give him something to look at for his last godforsaken hours before he snuffs it."

Peeta scowled, clenching his hands into fists. "He's not going to snuff it," he said in a dangerously low voice. "He's going to win." Harold laughed and inched closer to him on the bed. "Stop laughing, he is going to win!"

"Oh come on babe, I'm just teasing," Harold chuckled, bumping his hip with his own.

"Don't call me that," Peeta said. "There's no cameras in here." He glanced down nervously at the bruises on his wrists from when they'd been bound together with the duvet. The body polish had long since faded and the evidence of Harold's abuse was beginning to show again. He was almost positive the cuts on his ankles were going to scar because of the ropes. It put him on edge because it was proof of what the man was capable of.

"You know I didn't mean to hurt you, right?" Harold said, also looking at the deep purple bruises.

"Then what were you intending to do?" Peeta fired back piquantly.

"It's your fault," Harold pointed out arrogantly. "For being so . . . _you._"

Peeta's scowl didn't ease up. He folded his arms and hid his wrists under them. "Well I'm sorry if I irritated you by being _me_," he snapped. Harold sat up and sighed heavily. He wound his arm around his shoulders, ignoring when the younger stiffened.

"You weren't irritating me. Well, you kind of were. But not for the reasons you'd think," he explained. "Sometimes a bit of pain won't hurt anyone."

"That doesn't make sense," Peeta replied. The footage on the t.v switched to the girl from 5 with the fox-like features who was currently treking through the forest. Her pack had contained a heat reflective sleeping bag that she had desperately needed. She had been using a blanket she'd woven out of leaves and twigs to keep herself warm every night. It had only barely been working.

"It makes perfect sense, you're just not keeping up," Harold said.

"What are you going to do when Cato comes back from the arena and finds out what you've done?" Peeta asked, moving further up the bed and away from him. "I doubt he's going to be too happy."

"What? To find out that his boyfriend is a slut who let another man finger him?" Harold grinned.

"You did that against my will," Peeta said through gritted teeth. He had been trying to convince himself that what Harold did to him was not his fault and that Cato would understand if he let him explain. Although Harold wasn't being very helpful, bringing him back down to the level of being convinced that it _was_ his fault and that he was nothing but a dirty whore.

"It's only against your will if you don't want it," Harold replied, quirking an eyebrow. "And you enjoyed it didn't you?"

"You know I didn't," Peeta snapped.

"And the way your hips rolled back on me was what? An involuntary reaction?"

"As a matter of fact, _yes_."

Harold chuckled. "Oh, the innocence of children."

"I'm not a _child_!"

"In the Capitol, anyone still elligable for the Hunger Games is still a child," Harold said. "You're sixteen, you're still a child." Somehow he had managed to get closer to Peeta without him noticing-a skill he seems to put to use very well-and was now sitting right by his feet. Without really thinking about it, Peeta reached out and took his cane up into his hands.

"I may still only be a child but it doesn't make me an idiot."

"Oh, taking up arms are we?" Harold laughed, pointing at the cane.

"I've learnt from my mistakes," Peeta fired back. "I'm not going to think twice about smacking you this time around! When I didn't do this I ended up getting bloody raped by _you!_ You dirted me because I didn't have the common sense to sleep with my only weapon of defense!"

"I wouldn't go as far as calling it _rape_," Harold said. "As previously mentioned, you enjoyed it."

Peeta stared at the man, at the insane look in his eyes, at the derranged quirk in his lips, the amused risen eyebrow . . . "You are completely mad," he concluded. This actually made Harold laugh. The sound was loud and full of hysterics, the laugh of the insane. It made Peeta cringe and he felt a sudden need to get away from it, to have at least a moment on his own. "I'm going to the bathroom," he said, feeling the need to explain himself as he got up and walked to the en suite.

The Capitol bathrooms made Cato's bathroom back in 2 look like an outhouse. The walls and floors gleamed so white that it should come with a suggestion to wear sunglasses before you enter. Every surface, you could see your reflection perfectly, a duplicate version of yourself staring back at you. The shower cubicle had a thousand settings, an array of multi coloured buttons that didn't have descriptions of what they were for. A marble sink sat in the corner with an oval mirror strung up above it. The overhead lights looked like diamonds pinned into the ceiling, bearing down in the room and throwing the already many reflections off into pairs.

Even if the bathroom was over the top and ostentatious, the air was clean and much more fresh than that of the bedroom. Peeta gulped it in greedily, glad to be rid of the stale, stuffy air of his apartment. He knew eventually he'd have to go back out and face Harold but it was nice to bask in the clean, lemon scented air that was his en suite bathroom which consisted of the best invention ever, the lock. If he wanted, he could sit in there for hours on end, just listening to the hum of the water pipes and the flickering of the diamond headlights. Even though it was clear that he couldn't do this because of the ongoing broadcast of the Games on his television in his bedroom, it was still a nice thought to keep in mind if Harold ever lost his mind again.

When he was collected again he exited the bathroom, the first thing he looked at being the television screen. It was back on Katniss and Gale who were shrouded in the near complete darkness of a cave. Gale didn't look good at all, the cut Clove gave him still bleeding and oozing puss. What exactly was in their pack if it wasn't helping him at all?

"Why isn't the medication working?" Peeta asked Harold.

The Capitol Man had been lying on his back in the middle of the bed with a pillow on his face. At the sound of Peeta's voice he pulled said pillow off and glanced at the t.v screen. "What medication?" he asked.

"In Katniss' pack. I assume that's what they gave her, right? The cure for Gale's blood poisoning?"

Harold laughed. "Oh, no," he said. "That's not it at all. Mya sorted out everyone else's packs and gave young Everdeen a little reminder of how she treated you after your ordeal."

Peeta's blood ran cold. "What did she give her?"

"Just a stale loaf of bread to represent her stale attitude towards you," Harold shrugged.

"But why would she do that! Gale's dying, he needs medicine!" Peeta exclaimed. "Is shaming Katniss really more important than that?!"

"Apparently, yes," Harold said.

"Look at him," Peeta said, pointing at the t.v. Katniss was clinging to Gale's hand, crying her heart out. "Look at _her._ They're both a wreck! The right medicine could have bought him a bit longer!" He sat on the end of the bed, keeping a gap between himself and Harold. "First Cato and Clove's pack and now _this_?! What the heck is wrong with you two?!"

Harold shrugged nonchalantly. "Quite a lot. Or so I'm told, anyway," he said. He threw the pillow back over his face and took a deep breath.

Peeta eyed him wearily. "Are you smelling my pillow?" he asked tiredly.

"Fuck, your natural scent is intoxicating." Harold turned over onto his stomach and kept his face buried in the bed covers. Peeta turned his nose up at him in distaste. Harold had some serious issues that no therapist could ever solve. "When are these sheets being washed? I need to bottle this, seriously."

"Uh . . ."

In a sudden flurry of moments, Harold lurched off the bed, grabbed him by the elbows and spun him around so that he was pinned flat on his back against the bed. Peeta was taken by surprise and dropped his cane in shock, the stick clattering against the wooden floor boards. Thrown of by pure fear and adrenalin, he started to kick out.

"Get off me!"

"Calm down, I'm not going to 'rape' you again." He said the 'r' word with sarcastic finger gestures. He was putting all his weight onto Peeta's hips, keeping him affixed in place. "I just want to be close to you." He leaned down and pressed his torso again Peeta's, nuzzling his head into his neck. "You keep moving away from me."

"Gee, I wonder why."

"I know right," Harold murmered. He clung to him tighter, lifting him off the mattress slightly so his shoulder blades were the only part of him touching the bed. Peeta felt extremely uncomfortable but let him hug him, knowing it was better for Harold to hug him rather than try to have sex with him again. He sniffed the crook of his neck the same way he did with his pillow and sighed in content. "I love you," he sighed.

Peeta resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't want to get into this again and just let Harold think what he wanted. The only person he'd believe ever loved him is Cato.

Only Cato.

_Arena_

_A couple hours later_

Thresh's body lay by his feet, the massive slash across his neck still bleeding even after the tribute had died. Cato stood over him, still shaking with rage. His sword was clenched in his hand, the blade dripping with blood. The past couple of hours had been a blurr of running through the wheat field in search of the beast from 11, the only thought clear in his mind being the desperation to avenge Clove's death.

He couldn't even remember killing the boy from 11. One minute he was running through the forest, the next he had ran smack bang Thresh and just . . . lashed out. He had been overwhelmed with the grief of his best friend's death. Of the knowledge he'd never see her smile again, hear her laugh, her voice, her everything. She was just . . . gone. And all he knew was that it was Thresh's fault.

He shouldn't have killed him. He felt guilty immediately after. He'd told himself he wouldn't go out and hunt people anymore and yet almost as soon as he was on his own, he'd broken that policy and went out and murdered Thresh. What would Peeta think? Would he understand why he had done it? Or would he just return to his orignial viewpoint that all careers are monsters who can't control their lust for blood?

Cato dropped his sword and ran a hand over his face in frustration. It was then he noticed his pack lying a couple of feet away from Thresh's body. He'd almost completely forgotten that Thresh had tried to take his District pack from the feast. Curious as to what the Capitol thought that Clove and himself had needed, he scooped the black backpack up and undoing the zipper. Inside was a grey polypocket with the letters 'CC' printed on the front. Cato frowned and pulled it out, letting the backpack drop back into the grass. Inside the polypocket were a couple of glossy photographs. As he turned them over and examined them, it took him a moment to actually process who was in them.

He'd know Peeta immediately. He could pick his head out of a crowd of millions. This was him in the photos. Except it _wasn't_ him either.

Standing in front of a paint splattered background, was a hybrid version of Peeta. He was staring right down into the camera, the blue of his eyes being exaggerated up to a point that they were nearly glowing like a nightlight. His lime green sneaker clad feet were shoulder width apart, the bright yellow skinny jeans clinging to him like a second skin. What concerned Cato most was the fact that he was shirtless, his naked torso on full display. There was paint trickling down his body, a multitude of various colours sliding down his chest and arms, dripping onto the bright jeans and staining them with speckles of the different colours. His hands were clenched into fists, resting on his hips, and long strings of the paint drizzled off and snapped off to be captured falling to the floor.

What the hell was this?

Was this what they were forcing Peeta to do in the Capitol?

Cato crumpled the photo up in his hand and stuffed it back into the pack. They were trying to piss him off. And it was working. He couldn't pick up his sword for several minutes, knowing he was a danger to himself if he did it too early. That hybrid version of Peeta wasn't a hybrid at all. It was the real Peeta. _His_ Peeta. Cato saw something past the fake gleam in the artifical blue of his eyes. Something painful.

It killed him to see.

Once he had calmed himself to a neutral state, he grabbed his sword, shouldered his district pack, and left Thresh's body to be picked up by the hovercrafts. He had to get back to the Capitol as soon as possible. He had to get rid of that painful gleam for good.

Nothing else mattered now.

_**A/N: Poor Thresh :( Still, everybody knows that everybody dies, right?**_

_**Please R&R! (:**_


	22. Chapter 22

_**A/N: Hello folks! Sorry for the delay! Here's chapter twenty two! :)**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**_

Chapter Twenty Two

_Arena_

The day he died, Cato heard her scream.

He'd been sitting against the Cornucopia, waiting for someone to come along so he could kill them and be done with it, when he heard her. Her voice ripped through the still air like a blowhorn in a library. The sorrow in her tone bore down on him like a ton of bricks having been dropped onto his back. Cato knew it almost immediately. It was Katniss.

And her partner was dead.

The cannon soon followed, it's sound not even reaching the height of Katniss' scream. Cato tried to feel glad for the fact that only left three of them remained, but he couldn't. He couldn't say he knew what it felt like to lose a loved one but the only thing he could compare it to was the thought of it having been Peeta who'd died. He tired not to focus on it though, because even the thought alone was terrifying enough. He couldn't imagine what it was like for Katniss.

_No Cato. Don't go soft, not now. Not when there's only three poeple left. When you're so close to winning._

As he sat there in the grass, the sky darkened and the arena was plunged into artificial night. His heart picked up as he realized what was happening. The gamemakers were throwing them into the finale of this year's games. He craned his neck around and stared up at the Cornucopia. Could he get up there? He needed to have a look at the entire forest to see what was coming. Sighing, Cato got up and used the nooks in the sleek gold surface to climb up to the top.

He swung himself up on top and stood up on the roof, now able to see over the tree tops and view the entire forest. The whole arena was shrouded in the dark, no area left lit up. Cato squinted and waited for his eyes to adjust but it just wouldn't happen. It must have been some simulated gloom that was so thick the human eye couldn't even adjust to it.

A dog's howl suddenly screamed in the night. The thundering noise echoed through the still air; the cacophonous shrill tearing from somewhere nearby. Holy God, that didn't sound good. Cato was now all the more glad he had decided to climb up onto the Cornucopia. Who knew what sort of hell they had unleashed onto them as the finale. The howl had been quite distant though, so who knew how long it'd be before whatever it was would reach him.

And what it would do once it found him.

~xXx~

_The Capitol_

"What was that?" Peeta bolted off the bed, cringing at Harold who was still asleep beside him. He turned to the t.v screen to find it already night time in the arena. That couldn't be right. When it was night in the Capitol it was normally daytime in the arena so that people could watch the tributes at prime time in the arena when it's evening in the city. What did that mean? Were the Gamemakers in a hurry to end it? What had woken him up was a loud noise, like the howl of a wolf or dog or an animal of some description.

"Harold," he hissed, shaking the man's arm to wake him up. "Harold, wake up!"

"It's too early baby," Harold muttered sleepily. "Go to sleep."

"Wake up you lazy moron!" Peeta snapped, pushing him so hard that he rolled off the bed. He winced at the bang the man's body made when it hit the wooden floorboards. Harold sat up and rubbed his head.

"Have you ever heard of waking someone up gently?" he asked grumpliy, blinking drowsily.

"That's a sleepwalker numbskull!" Peeta replied. "Now tell me why it's night in the arena!"

Harold hauled himself back up onto the bed and rubbed his eyes before looking at the t.v. "There must be only three people left. The finale's starting." He lay back down and shut his eyes, not even noticing Peeta's horrified expression.

"Harold!" he yelled, slapping his arm. "You can't just go back to sleep! What's the finale? Is Cato going to be alright?!"

"I don't know, it depends," Harold mumbled into his pillow. "If he's on high ground then he should be alright."

Peeta looked back at the t.v screen and saw Cato sitting ontop of the Cornucopia, gazing out into the distance. Was that high enough? He supposed it would be, since the roof was higher than a lot of the trees in the arena and if you stood ontop of it you would probably be able to see the entire landscape. Okay, at least he was safe.

The camera cut away from Cato and landed on Katniss, who was curled up in a ball in the corner of the cave herself and Gale hid in. She was clawing at her hair, sobbing like a maniac. Peeta frowned, momentarily wondering what was up before it suddenly came to him. Gale wasn't there anymore. There was just a small puddle of dried blood on the cave floor.

Gale was dead.

"Oh my god," Peeta said, falling back against the headboard in disbelief. Harold cracked an eye open with a curious frown. "I can't believe it." Even though he had barely knew Gale, it was still hard to believe he was dead. The man had been older than him and even though they denied it, he knew Katniss and himself were together romantically.

Peeta ran a hand over his face and tried to calm his fluttering nerves. Three people left, only three. It was getting so close to the end. So, so close. But now that there was only three people left, the chances of Cato getting out were slimmer.

"Peeta," Harold said catiously, poking his arm. "You okay, babe?" When Peeta didn't respond, he sat up. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"What if he doesn't get out? What if Katniss shoots him or that girl from 5 outwits him or whatever the hell made that sound gets to him?" Peeta asked in a rush. "What if he dies and I never see him again and I have to pretend to love you for the rest of my life. I don't want him to die, I'll just be dead inside for the rest of my life-"

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay," Harold said, wrapping his arms around him and pulling his head to his chest. Peeta didn't resist it, wishing for the human contact just this once. "He's not going to die, I promise."

"Wouldn't you rather he died?" Peeta muttered glumly.

"No," Harold replied. "Snow needs him alive for the love triangle image. Even I fear what he'd do if Cato died and the image couldn't continue. I want the guy to live as much as you do." He rubbed Peeta's back and rested his chin on his head. "That's why they made sure Cato was beside the Cornucopia before they released the mutts."

Peeta pulled away from him with a frown. "Mutts?" he asked slowly.

"The howl was of a muttated dog created by the Capitol," Harold explained. "They used the genetics of the dead tributes to create them and have let them loose in the forest. Their prime objective is to maul anything that gets in their way. That's why it's a good thing that your Cato found high ground. The mutts can't climb."

Peeta wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin on them. "Mauling. That sounds horrible," he mumbled. Harold rested his hand on his back and he flinched, closing his eyes and trying not to inch away. "Imagine being mauled to death."

"Well," Harold said, scratching the back of his head. "Mauling can be used in more than one sense." Peeta glared and him and he held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, that was in bad taste, sorry. No, I know it's horrible but a Hunger Games finale isn't a Hunger Games finale without blood, gore and drama."

"I suppose," Peeta muttered. "But, if Snow _needs_ Cato to survive, why the hell am I letting you do what you want? Snow's not going to kill him if he needs him for the love triangle, right? I don't have to let you do what Snow wants you to." He shrugged Harold's hand off his back. He was suddenly feeling very enpowered. "Because Snow can't kill him if I say no! Because he _needs_ him for the love triangle!"

Harold narrowed his eyes and straightened up. "You'll do what you're told for your own good," he said slowly.

"Why? Because Snow is going to kill me? Kill Cato? What would happen to his love triangle then, huh?" Peeta demanded.

"It's not about what Snow will do to you, it's about what _I'll_ do to you," Harold said in a warning tone.

"Harold, you've already crossed the line with what you can do to hurt me," Peeta replied. "I don't think you can go much further than that."

Harold laughed. "Oh really?" he challenged. His voice made Peeta rethink what he'd just said. The confidence that he could do more was too strong for someone who was only kidding around. "The President knew that eventually you'd figure out that Cato was always planned to be the winner of Games and to prevent you from neglecting your duties because of this he told me I could choice what was to be done to you if you said no. I chose for you to come home with me."

"Come home with . . . you?"

"Oh yeah. You'd love my place. A masochist's dream," Harold replied.

"Oh please," Peeta said, surprising Harold. "Mya put me under the simulation pill, I've been in worse siutations than _that._ I may be broken, but it has made my pain threshold much, _much_ larger."

Harold rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm bored with this conversation," he said flippantly. He snatched Peeta's wrist, dug his hand into his backpocket and swiftly cuffed the wrist to the headboard.

"Harold!" Peeta yelled, tugging his bond hand. "What the heck?!"

"I always keep cuffs on me, baby," Harold said. He then pulled a hankerchief out of his other pocket and shook it out. "Don't worry," he said absentmindedly, "it's clean." He then proceeded to gag Peeta with it it. "There! You're much more attractive when you can't talk. Now shut up, watch the games and let me go back to sleep."

He didn't wait to hear whatever muffled response Peeta might have had, he just slid under the covers and went back to sleep.

~xXx~

_Harold_

The first thing he saw when he woke up was Peeta. The room was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the television screen that was on 24/7 in the blond's room. The young boy was sleeping on his side, his arm twisted awkwardly infront of him because of the cuff. The hankie was still around his mouth, gagging it open in an incredibly arousing way.

Harold smiled and stroked the sleeping boy's face. He nuzzled his face closer into the pillow, his mouth attempting to close, only to be pushed back open by the hankerchief. Harold sighed and ran his fingers through his blond curls, wishing he knew why the boy rejected him so.

That was the only thing he envied off of Cato.

Peeta's love.

He supposed he understood why Peeta didn't believe him when he said he loved him, why he believed he didn't know the meaning of the word 'love'. He had never been good at expressing infatuation or yearning. Desire? Lust? Passion? He was _very_ good at expressing. He could embody them with the percision of an expert but _love?_ No. It was an alien thing. And he did not blame Peeta for thinking he didn't know what he was saying.

But he _did._

Harold had hungered for teens before. He had put 'Cleaner Wanted' signs up in the newsagents to lure the rebellious Capitol teens who were desperate for a weekend job to prove their parents wrong to his home. He'd devour them, toss them aside, and later hear of the recent adolescent who'd developed PTS because of an event they never talked about.

But soon the children stopped coming and he'd ended up contacting Mya. He knew that it was his last option as he turned twenty five, deciding that owning a child was the only alternative. Mya had told him she had the perfect child for him. A fifteen year old from District 12. At first he had been apprehensive. _District 12?_ He'd thought. _Isn't that place a bit dirty?_ But he was desperate, so he took a train over there to at least have a look.

He remembered the day he first saw him like it was had just occured yesterday.

Mya and her partner Mort had been so welcoming, greeting him at her hideout with open arms and a glass of wine. They were brilliant hosts. Mya explained to him that they had been briefed last week by a source who wanted to remain unidentified about a boy who would br good enough for their business. The source had given them photos and info, even telling them that they'd send him off to so that they could kidnap him successfully. Basically, the source _really_ wanted this kid of their back.

_"I don't know why,"_ Mya had told him. Her smile was wide and lit up her whole face. Her hair was dark red, spilling over her shoulders in a whirlpool of scarlet strands. She licked her lips, moistening them._ "But they were _really _keen to be rid of him." _She also told him that the kid was the only one they had at the moment or they would have given him more of a range of choice.

He'd asked to see the child and Mya grinned, leading him through her hideout (a.k.a: Mort's house) and down into the basement. The room was so dark Harold had first thought he'd went blind. Shadows swirled around his feet as he descended down the stairs, trusting only Mya's footsteps to assure him he was going the right way. She apologized for the darkness, telling him to bear with her while she sought out the light switch.

When she'd finally flipped the switch, the room was bathed in the weak glow of an energy saving light bulb. Mya appeared by his side again, talking to him about something. He couldn't hear her though, she sounded far away. Because he was too fixated on what was infront of him.

A small figure sat curled in on itself, arms wrapped around its knees and head buried in its lap. Blood soaked its wrists, where chains dug into the skin to keep it shackled against the wall. Dirt and soot was streaked across its skin, a layer of sweat glistening with its slightest movements. Its hair was brilliantly bright, almost as bright as the light bulb over head, even though it was tangled and matted with grease.

_"Mr Woods," _Mya had said. _"This is Peeta."_

The creature flinched at the sound of its name, lifting its head ever so slightly so its eyes peered over its arms. The eyes were black voids, only blinking occasionally as it stared at him with profound fear. Strands of gold hair fell over the eyes, contrasting against the solid dark. The charcoal abyss' were framed with long eyelashes that didn't seem to get tangled together despite the kid's current condition.

_"Sorry about that,"_ Mya had intercepted. _"He's kinda, uh, been drugged up. He doesn't even know where he is right now."_

Harold approached the boy carefully, as not to startle him since he was hocked up on who knew what. He crouched infront of him and watched as the black eyes stared right at him, seeing but unseeing. As if sensing a meancing presence, the boy recoiled back and ducked his head back into his lap. The first thing that came to Harold's mind was not a lustful or explicit statement or a thought of what he could do with the kid's innocence but was actually quite a soft thought.

_He is beautiful._

A couple of days later he was informed that Mya's business had been exposed and their captive had been saved. He hadn't only felt disappointed, it actually ate him up inside to know he was never going to see the boy with the golden hair again. Or discover what colour his eyes really were.

No, Harold knew he was in love with Peeta.

If only Peeta would _believe_ him.

Harold sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Peeta's face screwed up and he whimpered, squirming and tugging on his wrist in his sleep. Taking pity on him, Harold gently unlocked the cuff and took it off. He reached over the side of the bed and pulled one of the sleep shirts out of the bedside table, twisting it together and wrapping it around his wrists to keep them bound together. He didn't tie it as hard as before, knowing that his boy wasn't going anywhere.

It wasn't that he wanted to tie him up all the time, it was that there was a part of his subconscious that believed that he was going to slip through his fingers again. Disappear, leave, be taken away again. There was something about keeping Peeta restrained that comforted Harold, told him that his baker wasn't going to disappear any time soon.

Harold knew he should have told him sooner that President Snow wasn't going to harm Cato. It would have been a load of Peeta's shoulders, lightened the burden in his mind at least for a little bit. But he didn't want to. He_ couldn't_. All those things that he had started to come out with once he'd figured it out. That he didn't have to pretend anymore, he didn't have to do Snow wanted anymore . . . it scared him. Harold didn't want him to stop pretending because love was love, even if it was fake, and it scared him to think that it could stop.

The only thing he could think of right that second was gagging him to be quiet because he knew if he didn't, Peeta was going to keep talking like that. Keep scaring him.

Even Harold feared what would happen once Cato came back. He knew how violent he was, how scary he was, how much he loved Peeta and how much he hated all those who hurt him. Oh god, he was going to kill him. As soon as he got out of those Games, he was going to kill him. Peeta was going to tell him what he'd done and Cato was going to kill him. That's why he made the most of the time he had now before he ended up getting a black eye and a fat lip from an angered career.

He glanced at the t.v and his heart plummented as a mutt jumped out of the trees and attacked Foxface. The programme was muted so he couldn't hear screams as the dogs tore her apart but the pain was evident. When there was nothing left of her but blood and guts, the mutts departed in search of the final two tributes in the Games.

In search of Katniss and Cato.

_**A/N: We're nearing the end of the Games guys!**_

_**I've got an official song for this fic! I don't normally assign songs to my stories but I heard this and it immediately made me think of Chosen. So have a listen:**_

_** : / / www . youtube watch ? v = h Himij VY sd 6I (with no spaces)**_

_**I think it's perfect (:**_

_**Please R&R! :D**_


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